


The Heart of Arlathan (Lies in the Eyes of Our Keeper)

by monstermash



Series: Dragon Age AU's [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Atlantis: The Lost Empire AU, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-15 04:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11798748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermash/pseuds/monstermash
Summary: Alistair Theirin grew up hearing stories and legends about Arlathan, the empire lost to the sea, and is now following in his mother's footsteps in trying to prove its existence, that it is more than just a fairytale and some wishful thinking.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my dudes, it's an atlantis au. like honestly this is a good au for the series. (a lot of the dialogue is from the movie jsyk)
> 
> (also there's not a lot of alistair/male mahariel fics so if i gotta fill up this tag myself then gdi i will)

_“… in a single day and night of misfortune, the island of Arlathan disappeared into the depths of the sea.” – Brother Genitivi, -975 Ancient_

\---

All the ocean was calm, the light of the sun dancing on the waves, until a bright flash of light blocked out all else, a loud unnatural cracking sound the only noise in a moment of complete and utter dread.

A large fleet of air ships heading back for the city at top speeds was cut in half as most were swallowed by the pursuing waves.

“You fool! You’ve destroyed us all with your eagerness to destroy the Imperium!” one of the pilots shouted.

“Now is not the time to be casting blame!” another shouted. “The wave is gaining! We have to warn Arlathan!”

“Too late!” another cried out as the wave ensnared more of them in its hunger.

As the remains of the once grand fleet finally reached the outskirts of the city, they could see the heart shining red, its tendrils of light searching the city, instead of its normal calm blue.

One by one all the watchtowers they passed began to alert the citizens to evacuate to the shelters, though for many it was too late, the wave beginning to claim the farmlands as it drew closer and closer to the city proper.

The pilots made hasty emergency landings in the city, most of them helping the guards direct the people to shelters. The terrified screams of thousands drowned out the bells and gongs. Many fell in the tide of the crowd as everyone rushed to get into the protected area.

The red tendrils of light grew more frantic in their search as the golem guardians moved into position, drawing back their arms in a wide arc before bringing them together in a loud, stony clap, causing a blue crackling energy to spread out from their palms.

“Keeper, this way,” a guard called out. The Keeper ushered his wife forward as he went to pick up their son.

“Atuan, we must go,” the Keeper told his son in a soft, calm tone of voice. He knew panic and fear would not help in this grave time. He took his son’s small hand in his, but did not get very far before the red light from the heart settled on him.

The Keeper stopped in his tracks immediately, his crystal necklace glowing as his eyes clouded over in an electric blue as he turned to face the heart. The other tendrils of light ceased their search, drawn to what was finally found, the red finally returning to blue as the light lifted the Keeper from the ground.

His body fell slack the higher he rose, the only part of his body still responding to him was the hand that held his son’s hand. Regretfully, he let go so that he would not take his child with him into the heart. Instead, the Keeper held onto the carved wooden bangle his son wore and took that with him.

 _“Papae!”_ the child cried, chubby arms outstretched as he tried to chase after his father. _“Papae!”_

His tiny legs couldn’t keep up with the speed he was attempting, causing him to fall onto the stone streets. He reached his arms above him, outright sobbing at this point as the Keeper was finally engulfed by the heart, which began to glow brighter than any star as the stone totems surrounding it started to spin.

The shield of light from the golems was nearly finished, trapping many outside. The Keeper’s wife raced back to her son, gathering him into her arms and tucking his face against her neck as she watched the heart spin faster and faster.

“Don’t look, Atuan. Close your eyes and keep your face turned away,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “May Falon’din guide you, _ma vhenan.”_

Thousands of Elvhen trapped outside the protective barrier cried out as the wave rose high above them, their voices silenced as it crashed down on them. 

The dome shield was completely sealed once the wave began to engulf the city as a blinding light exploded from the heart.

The remains of the city sank beneath the ocean’s waters, as if it had never been there at all.

\---

The cobblestone streets of Denerim were alive with the sounds of carriages and automobiles and people walking and talking as they all went about their day. Many passed by the grand arched front of the Royal Denerim Museum.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Alistair begins from where he stands at oak podium on the stage, a blackboard and map behind him. “First off, I’d like to thank the board for taking this time to hear my proposal.”

Taking a moment to straighten the papers in front of him, Alistair quietly clears his throat before beginning his speech. 

“Now we’ve all heard the legend of Arlathan, a continent somewhere in the mid-Amaranthine ocean that was home to an advanced civilization who possessing technology far beyond our own, that – according to our friend Genitivi here – was suddenly struck by some cataclysmic event that sank it beneath the sea,” Alistair says as he gestures to the map and the stone bust off to the side. He picks up some large slides and flipped through them for the audience as he continues. 

“Now, some of you may ask, _‘why Arlathan? It’s just a myth, isn’t it? Pure Fantasy.’_ Well, that is where you’d be wrong. 10,000 years before the Tevinter Imperium built the temples to the Old Gods, Arlathan had electricity, advanced medicine, even the power of _flight._ Impossible you say, well no, not for them. Numerous cultures, ancient and otherwise, all over the globe, even the Dalish and elders of various alienages agree that Arlathan possessed a power source of some kind; more powerful than steam, than coal, more powerful than our modern internal combustion engines.”

Alistair sets the slides down and comes out from behind the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, I propose that we find Arlathan, find that power source and bring it back to the surface. Now this,” he reaches over to the podium and picks up one slide, with a page in the center of it, “is a page from an illuminated text that describes a book called the Shepherd’s Journal, said to have been a first-hand account of Arlathan _and_ its exact whereabouts”

He puts the slide back down and moves over to the chalkboard that already has writing on it.

“Now, based on an Ages-old translation of the Tevene texts, historians have believed the journal resides in Kal-Sharok, but after comparing the text to the runes of this Imperium shield,” Alistair explains as he lifts the old shield and reached out with his free hand, tugging his sleeve into his fist as he wipes away some of the chalk writing before correcting the translation, “I found that it was mistranslated. So by changing these letters and inserting the correct ones, we find that the Shepherd’s Journal, the key to Arlathan, lies not in Kal-Sharok, but in Kal-Hirol.”

He turns away from the blackboard and faces his audience, gripping the shield tight enough that his knuckles turn white, from nerves, though he keeps a pleasant smile on his face.

“Pause for effect,” he quietly reminds himself before setting down the shield and rolling up his sleeves. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll take your questions now.”

The trill of the telephone ringing causes him to wince slightly.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” Alistair says as he pushes the blackboard until it turns and climbs onto the now horizontal surface and answers the phone with practiced pleasantry. “Cartography and Linguistics, Alistair Theirin speaking.”

The smile slips from his face as it becomes obvious that the call is to voice another complaint about the heating. “Yeah. Yeah, just a sec.”

Alistair slides off the blackboard, reaching up to pull the cord of the hanging lightbulb as he passes to light up the room, revealing his audience to actually be various junk he had cobbled together to form believable silhouettes. He has to climb over his “audience” to get to the boiler which he begins to fiddle with, turning certain valves and pulling levers and finally smacking it at just the right time with a wrench.

When it lets out a burbling hiss he makes his way back to the phone.

“How’s that? That better?”

The angry voice on the other end of the line has turned more polite and agreeable as the heat seems to have turned back on. Alistair has tuned out at this point, letting out an “hm” and an “ah” where appropriate before hanging up entirely.

Alistair turns back to his audience of historical junk.

“Now as you can see by the, by this, um, map” his voice drops off as he looks down at the front of his shirt which is now covered in part of the chalk map he had drawn earlier. Without missing a beat he stands in front of the blackboard to fill in the map where it’s missing. “Map that I’ve drawn, I plotted the route that will take myself and a crew to the Deep Roads near Kal-Hirol to retrieve the journal.”

He is interrupted once more by the cuckoo clock going off, alerting him to the current time.

“Ah, showtime,” he murmurs to himself, a bright grin on his face as he wipes the chalk of his shirt and gathers up his materials. “Well, this is it. Finally getting out of the dungeon. It’s worse than Fort Drakon down here.”

Alistair pauses by his desk, picking up a framed picture of him as a child sitting on his mother’s lap. Fiona, his mother, had been an elven mage and one of the greatest explorers (he wasn’t biased. Okay, maybe he was a little bit, so sue him) of her time before her rather untimely passing many years before. He grins at the memories of her telling him stories about her travels and all she knew about Arlathan. She had always longed to find the lost city, the fallen empire that all elves and elf-blooded people descend from. What had started out as her dream quickly became his as well.

His trip down memory lane is interrupted when a cylinder arrives in the tube by the door. Carefully setting the framed photograph down, he opens the cylinder, retrieving a letter.

“Dear Mr. Theirin, this is to inform you that your meeting today has been moved up from 4:30 pm to 3:30 pm,” he reads aloud, brow furrowing with each passing word. He glances up at the clock, his heart suddenly dropping before lodging itself in his throat. “What?”

Another cylinder arrives not long after. He snatches it up, quickly opening it and pouring over the new letter. “Dear Mr. Theirin, due to your absence, the board has voted to reject your proposal. Have a nice weekend, Mr. Riordan’s office.”

Dropping the letter and the cylinder, Alistair stuffs his materials and the photograph into his bag and hurriedly shrugs into his coat before racing out of the basement to find the board of directors. 

He manages to catch Director Riordan as the man steps into the waiting automobile in front of the museum.

“Mr. Riordan, please reconsider,” he pleads, out of breath.

“Mr. Theirin,” the director says, looking Alistair in the eyes. “This museum funds scientific expeditions based on facts, not legends and folklore. Besides, we need you here. We depend on you.”

“You do?” Alistair asks, surprise evident on his face and in his tone.

“Yes,” Riordan answers, patting Alistair on the shoulder. “What with winter coming, that boiler’s going to need quite a bit of attention.”

“Boiler?” Alistair repeats helplessly, his heart sinking faster than rowboat riddled with holes.

Riordan closes the automobile’s door while Alistair is still standing there stunned. At the sound of the automobile departing, Alistair shakes himself out of his daze and begins to run alongside it, pulling out a map.

“There’s a journal, it’s in Kal-Hirol,” he explains to an uninterested Riordan, “I’m sure of it this time!”

When the director draws the curtains closed on him, Alistair becomes so frustrated that he does something completely stupid. He jumps onto the hood of the automobile.

“Sir,” he grunts with the effort to stay on the car as the driver tries swerving to knock him loose. “I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but this is a letter of resignation! If you reject my proposal–”

The driver finally manages to dislodge him and he tumbles off the side and onto the street.

Completely fed up with the situation, Alistair scowls as he shouts “I’ll quit!” at the director’s automobile. It stops abruptly, then backs up until it reaches him as he gets himself to his feet.

Alistair is speaking as soon as the curtains open.

“I mean it, sir. If you refuse to fund my proposal, I’ll–”

Riordan cuts him off before he can continue.

“You’ll what? Flush your career down the toilet like your mother?” Riordan sighs as he continues, his face softening from the harsh look it had before. “You have a lot of potential, Alistair, don’t throw it all away chasing fairytales.”

“But I can prove Arlathan exists,” Alistair insists. He isn’t one to be easily deterred when it comes to the topic of the lost empire.

“You want to go an expedition? Here,” Riordan says as he tosses a couple of copper pieces at Alistair’s feet. “Take a trolley to the Drakon River and jump in. Maybe the cold water will clear your head.”

The curtains close once more as the automobile starts up, splashing water on Alistair as it passes through a puddle.

Alistair looks at the now ruined map, the ink running down the sheet as clouds gather overhead. He won’t make it back in time before the rain hits. Sighing heavily, Alistair heads home to his tiny apartment.

\---

His apartment is dark and quiet when he unlocks the door, light from the hallway spilling into the room.

“I’m home. Ser Whiskers,” he calls out to his cat as he puts his keys back in his trouser pockets and uses his foot to kick the door closed behind him. “Here, kitty.”

Alistair pulls the lamp cord to turn it on, but nothing happens, only clicking noises every time he tugs on it. A flash of lightening illuminates the room long enough for him to see the silhouette of a woman standing in front of the window.

As his eyes adjust to the low light he can see her better, but not well enough to make out distinct features. She turns to face him and he can’t seem to recall if he’s ever seen her before or not.

“Alistair Theirin,” she says, her dark eyes fixated on him.

“Who are you? How did you even get in here? The door was locked when I left this morning so there’s no way you could’ve gotten in. Unless you somehow scurried in here without me noticing.”

She smirks at him as she sits down in the armchair nearest the window. “I came down the chimney. Ho ho ho,” she answers while letting her shawl slip off her shoulders. “My name is Cauthrien. I’m acting on behalf of my employer, who has a most intriguing proposition for you. Are you interested?”

Alistair finds himself stumbling over his words. He’s never been good at talking with women. Perhaps it was due to being raised in an all boy Chantry boarding school after his mother had passed, but he knows it isn’t really that. He’s always had a bit of trouble talking with anyone vaguely attractive, not just women. His only two responses were either “bumbling fool who can’t figure out how to speak” or “can’t figure out right thing to say so just make jokes until they grow tired and leave.” Or to put it plainly, he was awkward unless a topic he was interested in or passionate about was brought up.

Ultimately he’s able to find the words he’s looking for.

“Who is your employer?”

\---

Alistair is sitting in the back of an expensive automobile next to Cauthrien, wondering how his life managed to spiral completely out of control as they pull up to an ornate looking mansion. He could work all day, every day at the museum and never even come close to having even a third of what this place must have cost. How is this his life?

The rain is coming down harder now as they step out of the automobile and into the foyer. Alistair gets immediately distracted by the various artifacts in the foyer after handing his coat over to a butler that Cauthrien has to call his name a couple of times to get his attention again.

“Follow me,” Cauthrien says as she starts walking towards the elevator at the other end of the room. “And don’t drip on the carpet. You don’t have enough money to replace it if it gets ruined. Step lively, Mr. Duncan does not like to be kept waiting.”

The elevator gate closes behind them and they begin to descend.

“You will address him as Mr. Duncan or sir. You will stand unless asked to be seated. Keep your sentences short and to the point,” Cauthrien instructs, straightening Alistair’s shirt collar and his vest, leveling him with a hard look. “Are we clear?”

Alistair swallows thickly once the elevator gate opens and Cauthrien has to practically shove him out of it to get him moving.

“And relax. He doesn’t bite. Often.”

The hum of the elevator behind him signals Cauthrien’s departure. Alistair takes a careful step into the room, enthralled by the books and texts on the shelves, and the large aquarium that took up an entire wall – that practically _was_ a wall just from its sheer size – but what really drew his attention was the painting that hung above the lit fireplace.

It was of his mother and a man he didn’t recognize.

“She was the finest explorer I’ve ever met.”

Alistair jumps at the voice, not having heard the man from the portrait’s approach. The man chuckles at his reaction as he steps forward and extends his hand.

“I’m Duncan, pleasure to meet you, Alistair.”

Alistair reached out and grasped Duncan’s hand and they shook hands.

“Did you really know my mother?” Alistair asks when they let go.

“Oh yes. We met back in Orzammar. We were both part of an expedition into the Deep Roads, looking for an abandoned thaig, which we did find by the way. After that we went on many expeditions together, until she had to take a break due to her pregnancy with you,” Duncan gestures to Alistair as he speaks. “After that we kept in touch sporadically due to conflicting schedules; I was off on other expeditions most of the time and she was busy with her research. I didn’t hear of her passing, or what became of you, until after I had returned from Par Vollen. Unfortunately by that time you had already started university and it didn’t feel right to suddenly intrude in your life. Fiona was a good woman, she spoke of you often.”

Alistair rubs the back of his neck. “Funny, she never mentioned you.”

Duncan tilts his head slightly before replying, a faint smile on his face. “She knew how much I like my privacy. I prefer to keep a low profile when possible.”

“Mr. Duncan, why am I here?”

Duncan points with his cane to a small table off to the side by a bookshelf.

“Look on that table.”

Approaching the table, Alistair noticed the package that sat upon it. It was plainly wrapped and tied with twine. The ink on it was written in rough, familiar chicken scratch.

_For Alistair. With love, Fiona Theirin._

“It’s from my mother,” Alistair says quietly, confusion etched on his face.

“She brought that package to me years ago. Said if anything were to happen to her I should give it to you when you were ready.”

Still confused by everything that has happened in the past two hours, Alistair decides to just open it up. As soon as he tears the wrapping paper away he knows what it is he’s holding. A leather bound book, preserved as perfectly as possible, with a dot at the center surrounded by an oddly designed spiral.

“It… it can’t be. It’s the Shepherd’s Journal,” he whispers with awe. “Mr. Duncan, this journal is the key to finding the lost continent of Arlathan.”

Duncan lets out a loud bark of laughter. “Arlathan? I wasn’t born yesterday, son.”

Alistair quickly begins to flip through the pages as he tries to convince the older man. 

“No, no, look at this; coordinates, clues, it’s all right here.

“Looks like gibberish to me.”

“That’s because it’s been written in an ancient dialect that no longer exists.”

“Oh, so it’s useless then.”

“No, just difficult,” Alistair objects, “I spent my whole life studying dead languages, it’s not gibberish to me.”

“That’s probably a fake,” Duncan dismisses.

Alistair closes the book and turns to face Duncan.

“Mr. Duncan, my mother would’ve known if this were a fake. _I would know._ I will stake everything I own, everything that I believe in, that this is the genuine Shepherd’s Journal.”

Duncan raises his hands in a placating gesture before directing Alistair to sit at the table by the aquarium.

“All right, all right. What do you want to do with it?”

Multiple possibilities start to run through Alistair’s mind. This could be the proof.

“Well, I’ll get funding. I mean- I’ll- the museum-”

“They’ll never believe you.”

“I’ll show them. I will make them believe.”

Alistair is too close to it now, especially now that he has the journal, to give up. He can’t. The journal was just the spark he needed to rekindle his hope.

“Like you did today?” Duncan asked with a wry grin.

“Yes! Well, no – how’d you…? Forget about them okay? I will find Arlathan on my own, even if I have to rent a rowboat!”

Duncan’s grin grew wider.

“Congratulations, Alistair. This is _exactly_ what I wanted to hear. But you can forget the rowboat, son,” Duncan says as he presses a button on the table. The surface of the table retracted to reveal several models of submarines, ships, drills, and various other things. “We’ll travel in style.”

Alistair kneels down to inspect the tiny models, but turns to face Duncan as the man continues speaking. “It’s all been arranged, the whole ball of wax.”

“Why?” Alistair asks, clearly taken aback. He’s been trying for the past two years to get an expedition arranged and now that it apparently has he can hardly believe it.

“All the years you mother bent my ear with stories about that old book I didn’t buy it for a minute. So finally I got fed up and made a bet with her. I said ‘Fiona, if you ever actually find that blighted journal, not only will I finance the expedition, but I’ll kiss you full on the mouth.’ That’s my embarrassment when she found the darn thing.”

Duncan points to a framed photograph of both him and Fiona retching as she clutches the journal.

“Now I know your mother’s gone, Alistair, Maker rest her soul, but I am a man who keeps his word.” He turns his gaze to the painting above the fireplace. “You hear that, Fiona? I’m going to the afterlife with a clear conscience!”

Duncan sighs, staring into the flames dancing in the fireplace.

“Your mother was a great woman. You probably don’t realize how great. Those buffoons in the museum dragged her down, made a laughingstock of her. She died a broken woman. If I could bring back one shred of proof that she was right all along, well, that’d be enough for me.” He sounds close to tears, but then the moment passes and he turns to face Alistair. “What are we standing around for? We got work to do!”

“But Mr. Duncan, in order to do what you’re proposing you’re going to need a crew,” Alistair starts as the older man hooks his cane around Alistair’s leg causing him to hop behind Duncan over to another table. Duncan unhooks the cane and taps it against sheets of paper and fanning them out.

“Already taken care of.”

Alistair loses his balance, falling to the floor. “You’ll need engineers and geologists.”

“Got ‘em all. Best of the best. Shale Cadash, geology and excavation. Oghren Kondrat, demolitions; busted him out of a Rivaini prison. Leliana Nightingale, don’t let her age fool ya, she knows more about engines than you and I will ever know. Wynne, medical officer trained spirit healer. Sten, communications. Loghain Mac Tir, former military and expedition leader.” He hands over a picture of the original crew, Fiona standing in the center of the group with a proud grin on her face as she holds the journal. “They were part of the crew that brought the journal back.”

Alistair’s face lit up with excitement. “Where was it?”

“Kal-Hirol.”

“I knew it!”

“All we need now is an expert in gibberish. So, it’s decision time; you can build on the foundation your mother left you, or you can go back to your boiler room.”

The entire situation seems to finally catch up with Alistair as he collapses into the chair opposite of Duncan.

“This is for real,” he whispers, running a hand through his blond hair, eyes wide with shock.

“Now you’re catching on.”

Alistair rests his head on the back of the chair as he groans. “There’s still so much that needs to get done. I’ll have to quit my job.”

“It’s done. You resigned this afternoon.”

Alistair’s head snaps up, mouth slightly parted in surprise. “I did?”

“Yup. Don’t like to leave loose ends.”

“Uh, my apartment,” he says, sitting up and forward on his chair. “I’m gonna have to give notice.”

“Taken care of.”

“My clothes?”

“Packed.”

“My books?”

“In storage.”

“My cat?”

Ser Whiskers meows right in his ear then climbs down from his shoulder and onto his chest as Alistair slouches in the chair, petting the cat. “My gosh…”

“Your mother had a saying: Our lives are remembered by the gifts we leave our children. This journal is her gift to you, Alistair.”

Duncan rises from his seat, and holds out Alistair’s coat.

“Arlathan is waiting,” he says softly. “What do you say?”

A grin spreads across his face.

“Do you even need to ask?”

\---

Alistair’s eyes were shut tight as he grips the ship’s railing, breathing heavily through his nose, trying not to get sick. The rocking motion of the ship and the sloshing of the water as they sailed, closer and closer to a very specific set of coordinates, was not helping quell his seasickness. 

Looking back on it now, he really shouldn’t have had any of the Orlesian cheese Duncan had offered him.

He winces when the intercom clicks on, a bit of feedback sounding out that is soon followed by a deep voice that sounded dry and unimpressed. “Attention. All hands to the launch bay. To whoever took the ‘L’ from the motor pool sign, ha ha, we are all very amused.”

Alistair reluctantly releases his grip on the railing and shoulders his bag and descends the stairs into the bowels of the ship, making his way to the launch bay.

Carefully ducking and weaving his way through the final preparations and loading, Alistair finally finds someone who seems to be in charge.

“Excuse me,” Alistair says once he’s gotten close enough to not have to shout over the noise. “I need to report in.”

The person turns around, tossing her dark braid over her shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Theirin,” Cauthrien intones with an amused expression.

“I-it’s you,” Alistair stammers. He hadn’t been expecting to see Cauthrien again.

They’re interrupted by a gruff looking man who pokes his head out from behind the canvas flap of the rations truck. “Cauthrien, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

“Hold that thought,” she says to Alistair, then turns to deal with the cook. “What is it this time?”

“You done stuffed my wagon full to bustin’ of non-essentials. Look at all this,” he says as drags a box over and begins to dig through it, pulling out everything he lists off. “Cinnamon, oregano, cilantro – what in the cockadoodle is cilantro?”

He tosses the box of spices back into the truck, completely ignoring the sound of glass breaking. The man looks down and seems to be perplexed by something. The cook lifts it up for closer inspection.

“What is _this?”_ he asks with thinly veiled disgust.

“That would be lettuce.”

The cook looks scandalized as he now holds the leafy vegetable at arm’s length. “Lettuce? Lettuce?!”

Cauthrien plucks it from his grasp and jabs a finger at him.

“It’s a _vegetable._ The crew needs the four basic food groups.”

The cook seems insulted, and Alistair thinks this might be a problem because he knows you’re never supposed to upset the person who handles your food.

“I got your four basic food groups!” The cook raises a finger for each thing he lists off. “Beans, bacon, whiskey, and lard.”

Alistair grimaces. He’s no health specialist but he’s pretty sure that’s wrong.

At the sound of the siren, Cauthrien shoves the lettuce back at the cook roughly, causing the man to fall backwards into the bed of the truck.

“All right, cowboy, pack it up and move out.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at Alistair and motioned for him to follow her.

“Attention, all hands to the launch bay, final loading in process.”

Alistair follows Cauthrien onto an elevator platform filled with a crowd of people who look like soldiers. The lift juddered to a stop at the bottom and there it was. It was one thing to see a model of the submarine, but to see the actual thing in person was… breathtaking to say the least. The soldiers streamed past him, heading off to where they were supposed to be.

Alistair followed after them at a much slower pace, causing a cart of explosives to bump into him.

“Hey, junior,” a red haired dwarven man barks at him, poking his head out around the crates, clearly looking agitated with Alistair. “If you’re looking for the pony rides, they’re back there.”

Still with a bit of a stunned expression Alistair bent down to pick up what had fallen from the top of the cart. “Excuse me,” he called out after the dwarf, “Excuse me you dropped your dynamite.”

The dwarf backed up a few steps and took the stick of dynamite from him.

“Uh, what else you got in there?” Alistair asked nervously, slightly afraid of the answer. Also slightly afraid of what should happen if the whole cache went off on the submarine.

“Oh, a kind of powder, nitroglycerin, fuses, wigs, glue, and… paperclips. Big ones,” he emphasizes with his hands. “You know, just office supplies.

He couldn’t tell if the dwarf was joking or not due to his flat, bored tone of voice. He didn’t really have time to dwell on it further, as Duncan was calling him over to where he stood next to who Alistair recognized as Loghain Mac Tir from the photographs.

“Alistair, I want you to meet Loghain Mac Tir, commander of the ship and leader of the expedition that brought the journal back from Kal-Hirol.”

Loghain extended his hand in greeting and Alistair accepted it.

“Alistair Theirin, pleasure to meet the son of Fiona. She spoke of you often. See you got that journal. Nice pictures. I prefer a good western myself.”

“Impressive right?” Duncan gestures to the submarine.

“When you settle a bet, you settle a bet,” Alistair huffs out a breath of laughter.

“Well your mother always believed you couldn’t put a price on the pursuit of knowledge.”

“Believe me, this will be small change compared to the value of what we’re gonna learn on this trip,” Alistair tells him with a grin.

“Yes, this should be enriching for all of us,” Loghain says, hands folded behind his back.

The intercom sputtered to life once more. “Attention all personnel: launch will commence in fifteen minutes.”

It was time to say goodbye, at least for the foreseeable future.

“Mr. Duncan,” Loghain says, nodding at man before turning and walking up the ramp and into the submarine.

“Mac Tir,” Duncan says in reply.

Alistair followed after Loghain up the ramp, twisting around to wave at Duncan. “Goodbye, Mr. Duncan,” he calls out.

“Make us proud, boy!”

Once the door closes behind him, the submarine begins to submerge. Alistair wonders if Arlathan sank as easy as the sub cuts through the water.

\---

The sound of his feet on the metal walkway seemed loud in his ears as he searched for his bunk. He figured he’d be sharing a bunk with at least one other person – the sub was spacious, but not _that_ spacious – but he was fine with it, figured it would be a lot like back in boarding school, at least four people to a room.

He manages to find his room as Sten’s voice comes in over the intercom again.

“Attention: tonight’s supper will be baked beans, musical program to follow.” Much quieter he added, “Who wrote this?”

The room has three beds, two one side of the room, the third on the other over a desk filled with books and files. It looked as if his bunkmates had already claimed their beds, leaving him the bottom bunk. Depositing his sea bag to the side, Alistair laid himself down on top of the blanket, thankful that at least his sea sickness didn’t seem to follow him from the ship.

He hadn’t realized how close he was to dropping off into sleep until someone starts rapping a stone against his forehead. His eyes snap open and he jerks back slightly at the sight of a dwarven war golem hanging upside down from the top bunk, staring at him.

“You’ve disturbed the dirt.”

“What?”

The golem – Shale Cadash if he remembers right – grabs Alistair by the front of his sweater and dragging him from his bed.

“You’ve disturbed the dirt,” she tells him again as she pulls back the blanket, revealing mounds of dirt with flags sticking out of them. “Dirt from around Thedas and you’ve mucked it all up.”

She starts to fix the piles, glaring at him all the while. “You must never merge Orzammar with Antiva.”

Shale faces him and looks at him, really looks at him if this is the first time she’s actually noticing him. “Who are you? Who sent you? Speak up! Was it the birds?”

“Me? I’m, uh-”

“Forget it, I will know soon enough,” Shale tells him, grabbing hold of his wrist despite Alistair’s protest and brings a pair of tweezers into play. “Do not be such a crybaby, hold still.”

Once she has what she’s looking for she releases Alistair and holds up the tweezers at eye level.

“Ah, there you are. Now tell me your story,” Shale murmurs to the speck of dirt. She begins to mutter at a rapid pace to herself. Shale’s eyes narrow as she looks at Alistair again. “A mapmaker… and a _linguist.”_

“Yeah, how did you…?” Alistair is incredibly impressed that Shale has been able to figure that out all from a bit of dirt that had been under his nail. 

“This is an outrage!” Shale bellows and shoves Alistair’s sea bag into in his arms and begins to push him towards the door. “You must leave at once! Out, out, out!”

They don’t get far however, seeing as how he gets pushed into the expedition’s doctor, Wynne. 

“Uh oh, sat in the dirt, didn’t you?” Wynne asks, mirth shining in her eyes and smile, like there’s some joke that only she is in on. In all honesty there probably is. “Shale, what have I told you about playing nice with the other kids?”

Shale grunted before climbing back into her bunk, pulling the blanket over her. Alistair wondered how she managed to rest her full weight on it without crashing through it.

“I’m Wynne. Medical officer,” Wynne introduces herself as she steps into the room, over to her medical bag and rummaging around for something.

“Yeah, Alistair Theirin.”

“Alistair Theirin? Ah, yes, you’re my 3 o’clock.”

Wynne pulls out a large saw instrument from the bag. “No time like the present!”

Alistair’s eyes go wide with a surge of fear. “Oh boy…”

“Nice isn’t it? The catalogue said this little beauty can saw through a femur in 28 seconds. I bet I can cut that time in half,” Wynne says, clearly enthusiastic for the chance to use it. Alistair gulped. He’s rooming with madwomen.

Putting the saw away, Wynne grabs a tongue depressor from the small rolling table filled with medical supplies. “Now stick out your tongue and say ‘ah.’”

“Oh, no, really, I’m completely fine – ah.”

Wynne ignores Alistair and presses down on his tongue and flashing a light in his mouth.

“So where are you from?”

His answer is garbled but she understands nonetheless.

“Really? I have friends up that way. Beautiful city,” She switches out the tongue depressor for a thermometer and presses a stethoscope against his chest. “You do any fishing?”

Another garbled response.

“Me? I hate fishing. I hate fish. Hate the taste, hate the smell, hate all those little bones.” Pausing for a moment she grabs two graduated cylinders and holds them out for Alistair to take. “Here, I need you to fill these up.”

“With _what?”_ Alistair exclaims incredulously.

He’s saved from finding out when Sten’s voice comes in over the intercom again.

“Will Alistair Theirin please report to the bridge?”

“Thank you,” Alistair mutters under his breath. “I mean, uh, nice meeting you.”

He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

“Nice meeting you too!”

\---

“So I say to him, ‘what’s wrong with my stance?’ and he says to me-”

Sten is interrupted by buzzing and a flashing light alerting him.

“Oh, hold on a second, Morrigan, I got another call.” And then he’s flicking switches and calling out over his shoulder. “Sir, we’re approaching coordinates.”

The bridge was something else entirely; Alistair was enraptured by the view through the glass. Never in his life did he think he’d be able to see the ocean like this. This was probably one of the most beautiful views he’d ever lay eyes on in his life.

“Welcome to the bridge, Mr. Theirin,” Loghain greeted him once he caught sight of Alistair climbing up the metal stairs to the platform he, Cauthrien, and the rest of the important members of the crew were occupying. “Okay everyone, I want you to give Mr. Theirin your undivided attention.”

Loghain stepped off to the side, leaving Alistair standing by the projector with all eyes on him. Alistair cleared his throat nervously, taking a step closer to the projector.

“Good afternoon. Can, uh, can everyone hear me okay?”

Leliana and Oghren gave him bored looks.

“Okay,” he said quietly, “oh, how about some slides?”

He searches through the box of slides he brought with him until he finds the right one.

“The first slide is a depiction of a creature. A creature so frightening that sailors were said to be driven mad by the mere sight of it. This is an illustration of the Leviathan, the creature guarding the entrance to Arlathan.”

Oghren points at the picture displayed on the screen by the projector. “With something like that I would have white wine, I think.”

“It’s a mythical sea serpent,” Alistair explains. “It’s described in the Canticle of Shartan that says ‘out of his mouth goes burning light, sparks of fire shoot out,’ but more it’s more than likely that the Leviathan is a carving or a sculpture to frighten the superstitious.”

“So we find this masterpiece, then what?” Loghain asks.

“Then we dig,” Shale says enthusiastically. Well, as enthusiastic as Shale can be. 

“Actually, we don’t have to dig,” Alistair interrupts as he turns off the projector and picks up a piece of chalk and draws a diagram on the screen. “See, according to the journal, the path to Arlathan will take us down a tunnel at the bottom of the ocean and we’ll come up a curve into an air pocket right here.” He taps the diagram for emphasis. “Where we’ll find the remnants of an ancient highway that will lead us to Arlathan, kind of like the grease trap in your sink.”

“Cartographer, linguist, _plumber._ Hard to believe he’s still single,” Cauthrien remarks sarcastically to Loghain who remains silent but the corner of his mouth quirks upwards.

“Captain,” the helmsman calls out, not taking his eyes off what he saw, “you better come see this.”

“Okay, class dismissed,” Loghain tells the crew, allowing them to disperse and go back to their duties as he strides over the helm. “Give me exterior lights.”

The lights flash and begin to move in a slow arc, showing what had been long hidden in the depths; tall, crumbling pillars of carved stone and destroyed ship wreckages.

“Look at that,” Cauthrien says quietly.

“There are ships here from every era,” Alistair comments with wonder in his voice.

Sten’s face scrunched slightly in confusion at the strange sound coming in over the radio. Something wasn’t right here.

“Commander, I think you should hear this,” Sten says. He waits patiently for a few moments before speaking again. “Commander. Commander.”

“Yes, Sten? What is it?”

“I’m picking up something on the hydrophone I think you should hear.”

“Put it on speakers.”

Sten flipped a switch and the ominous mechanical groaning and whining was broadcast to the entire bridge. It was like a whale song, but it brought about a sense of impending dread. An uneasy tension pervaded the air among the crew present.

Loghain stepped over to Sten’s station. “What is it, a pod of whales?”

“No. Bigger,” was the only answer Sten gave.

“It sounds metallic, it could be an echo off one of the wrecks,” Cauthrien said as she began to fiddle with the hydrophone frequency.

“You want to do my job? Be my guest.”

“Is it just me, or is it getting louder?” Alistair asks no one in particular.

Everything falls silent for long moments, everybody bracing themselves as the tension rises. When the sound doesn’t come back everyone relaxes.

“Well, whatever it was, it’s gone now,” Cauthrien says.

“Helmsman, bring us about,” Loghain orders. “Tighten our search pattern and slow–”

He’s cut off when the submarine lurches, throwing everyone who standing from their feet. The ship goes into a tailspin of sorts when the helmsman loses his grip on the wheel.

Down below Leliana runs through the lower decks, trying to not lose her footing as everything begins to tilt sideways, red lights flashing and alarms blaring.

“Out of my way!” She yells at various crew members trying to keep steady on their feet as well. 

When she finally gets down to engineering she can see some of her crew running away from the water leaking in; the hull must’ve been breached by whatever it was that hit them.

Back on the bridge Loghain gives Cauthrien orders and she directs the crew.

“Load the torpedo bays! Sub-pod crew, to battle stations!” she barks out. Another crash against the ship knocks her into the railing.

Another jolt rocks the ship, causing Alistair to fall onto the glass and he’s met with glowing red eye that is at least twice his size. Realization dawns on him and it feels like someone knocked the air out of him.

“Oh Maker, the Leviathan isn’t a sculpture, it’s a _machine!”_ If he wasn’t so worried about all of them getting killed he’d be having a field day with just this discovery alone.

As the Leviathan tightens its grip on the submarine, Leliana reaches the door that leads down to the engines and starts turning the door crank. She mouthed a silent prayer for those who were going to be trapped in there, but it was either close it off and buy the rest of them a few more minutes to escape or let them all drown.

The sub-pods launched and fell into formation, launching missiles at the Leviathan, but their weapons didn’t seem to do much more than agitate it, though it did let go of the ship. The sub-pod fleet retreated and it gave chase. The torpedoes launched next, but again, did nothing more than agitate it further. It gave a screech and fired what looked like electricity at the ship, breaching the hull once more.

In the lower decks the bolts in the walls started flying across the room, the heat and force from the attack doing serious damage. 

“Get me the bridge!” Leliana ordered as her crew began to seal off the boiler room.

“Sir, it’s engineering on the phone,” Sten alerted Loghain.

“Mac Tir! We took a big hit down here and we’re taking on water fast! I don’t know about you but I don’t want to be anywhere near here when it hits the boilers.”

Loghain sighed, rubbing at his brow. “How much time do we have?”

“Twenty minutes, _if_ the bulk head holds.” Leliana amends her estimation at the sound of a boom. “Better make that five.”

“You heard the lady,” Loghain bellows, “Let’s move!”

Alistair gets swept up in the tide of the crew to the escape pods.

“Sten, sound the alarm,” Cauthrien orders.

Sten, who has been sitting calmly and talking on the phone the entire time doesn’t react to Cauthrien right away. “He took his suitcase? Morrigan, I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Sten!” Cauthrien bellowed this time, clearly frustrated with the qunari. 

“I have to call you back. No, no. I’ll call you.” And then Sten is finally getting up from his desk as he ends the call and instead flips on the intercom, broadcasting to the entire ship. “Abandon ship. I repeat, abandon ship. All decks, your escape pods are located at the front and back of the ship. Step lively and take caution for any sudden hull breaches.”

Alistair raced through the deck, Leliana ahead of him and Wynne close behind, alarms blaring and the emergency still flashing red. Cauthrien held the hatch open, yelling for them to move faster. One after another they slid down the latter, hurrying to the bench to strap in as Cauthrien made her way to the pilots seat.

“Lieutenant get us out of here,” Loghain ordered as they both strapped in.

Cauthrien reached for the release lever, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Lieutenant,” Loghain hissed.

“I’m working on it!” Cauthrien ground out, putting her full weight into it.

The Leviathan let out another beam of light, this time piercing the ship completely. Cauthrien managed to finally get the lever to move after a few good kicks, lucky that it gave way when it did because as soon as they were a good distance away the submarine exploded, its remains sinking to the ocean floor.

They weren’t safe yet, however, as the Leviathan gave chase, determined to not let its prey escape.

The escape pod juddered violently as they barreled away from their pursuer, rocky debris knocking against them.

“Where to, Mr. Theirin?” If nothing else, Alistair had to give Loghain some credit for being able to remain calm in a time like this.

Flipping open the journal, his eyes quickly skimmed over the words until he found what he was looking for. “We’re looking for a big crevice of some kind.”

Almost immediately the commander and the lieutenant caught sight of the crevice, their only chance at escaping with their lives.

Cauthrien grabbed the radio comm as she changed direction for their escape route. “All craft, make your mark 20 degrees down angle.”

The other pod pilots confirmed the new direction over the radio and began to follow suit. Unfortunately a few got caught in the sideswipe of the Leviathan’s claws. Once down in the crevice, the Leviathan was too large to follow and instead resorted to using its beams of light again, taking out a few more of the pods. Soon there were too few of them left, after two more pods lost control and crashed into the rocky tunnel walls.

They lurched once more as the escape pod breached the surface into an air pocket, just like Alistair had said they would.

Loghain popped open the hatch and with the searchlight attached to the roof, shone it over the shore. There were crumbling ruins, a long flight of steps leading up to a dark tunnel, the archway carved and stylized to resemble a fish head with teeth.

After they made it to shore and unloaded their vehicles what remained of them gathered at the shore. Wynne held a helmet that contained a lone burning candle. She knelt down at the water’s edge and set the helmet adrift.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Loghain began his speech. 

“Seven hours ago we started this expedition with 200 of the finest men and women I’ve ever known. We’re all that’s left. I won’t sugarcoat it gentlemen, we have a crisis on our hands, and we’ve been up this particular creek before, and we’ve always come through, paddle or no paddle. I see no reason to change that policy now. From here on in, everyone pulls double duty. Everyone drives, everyone works.” He ascends a few steps and turns to look at Alistair. “Looks like all our chances for survival rest with you, Mr. Theirin. You and that little book.”

Alistair’s grip on the journal tightened, becoming determined to see this through, to see them all through this.

“We’re all going to die,” Sten said seriously, as if stating fact. Well, Alistair wasn’t going to let the poor show of confidence shake him. He couldn’t afford to waver now. Everyone burst into motion, moving to the various trucks and double checking that everything was secure and tied down.

“Lieutenant, I want this convoy moving five minutes ago,” Loghain ordered as he moved to the truck he was going to drive.

“Shale, you’re on point! No, Oghren you know the rules, I want you fifty yards behind that truck at all times. Load up and be ready to move out in no more than five minutes, people!”


	2. Chapter 2

They followed the ancient highway, twisting and turning, crumbling with age. There were more of those larger than life carved stone pillars, some in better condition than the ones in the graveyard of ships.

The farther they followed the path the more often the old road suddenly dropped off into a dark void, at which point they’d have to lower each vehicle down, one by one. Alistair spent most of his time with his eyes practically glued to the journal, making sure that he was getting the hang of the Elvhen language and that they were going the right way, trying to gauge their progress by comparing what landmarks that were still standing to the ones in the book.

At one point there was a fork in the road. The highway split into two directions, both leading into tunnels that looked like the hollow eye sockets of a skull, almost like it was crying. Alistair is sure he’s translated the text correctly and points to the tunnel on their left, though he’s soon proven wrong as a large insect looking creature bursts forth and snaps its mandibles at Shale’s drill.

Upon closer inspection he realizes that he had the book upside down. Sheepishly, he pointed to the other tunnel. The others weren’t happy about his mistake.

 

Later on, when they had stopped for a brief rest, Alistair took a long pull from a canteen. Oghren looked up from an explosive he was fiddling with, a look of dawning horror on his face.

“You didn’t just drink that did you?”

Alistair nodded, not seeing what the problem was.

“That’s not good, that was nitroglycerin. Don’t move and don’t breathe, don’t do anything… except pray, maybe.”

Alistair held very still.

“Boom!”

Alistair swore his heart stopped as Shale came into view, Oghren laughing almost hysterically.

Okay, so maybe the crew was a little more than unhappy with him. To be fair, he should’ve made sure he had the journal right side up.

 

When they finally set up camp for the night, Alistair kept to himself. He figured that they probably didn’t want him around more than necessary, so he took the time to really focus on mastering Elvhen in its written form (there was no need to really practice speaking it, since as far as he knew, he was the only one who could even understand it at this point. It’s not like he was expecting to run into anyone who actually spoke the language, especially down here, though he did try speaking it a few times for fun).

He had to admit though, despite the progress he was making with the journal, it was a bit lonely. _Just like boarding school,_ he thinks to himself with a sad smile. If Alistair could survive five years of loneliness then, he can survive a few more weeks of loneliness now.

After a few more days of travel, they came to an obstacle they couldn’t exactly go around. Another carved stone pillar, larger than any they’ve encountered before, stood in their way over an abyss.

“Wow,” Alistair breathed. “Look at the size of this. It’s gotta be half a mile high at _least._ It must’ve taken hundreds, no, thousands of years to carve this.”

Oghren said nothing as he placed as many explosives at the base of the pillar as he possibly could before grabbing the back of Alistair’s sweater and dragging him out of the blast radius. Once they were, the dwarf pushed down on the detonator and with a loud cracking noise the pillar fell, connecting their side to the other to allow passage.

“Hey look, I made a bridge,” Oghren said, ignoring the look of dismay on Alistair’s face, and nudging the human with an elbow. “It only took me like, what, ten seconds? Eleven, tops.”

As their group starts to cross the newly made bridge, Alistair swears he sees something moving in the shadows, in the dark, but then it’s gone quicker than he saw it. He doesn’t mention this to anyone. They’d just think him unstable.

\---

Eventually, they come across another obstacle that can’t be easily passed. A large wall that had fallen, tilted at an awkward angle, blocked their path.

“Looks like we have a little roadblock,” Loghain remarks. “Oghren, what do you think?”

“I could un-roadblock that with about two hundred of these,” he says, holding up a stick of dynamite, then rummages through his satchel. “Problem is I’ve only got about ten, plus five of my own, and… a couple of cherry bombs. Road flare.”

He looks over at Alistair with a smirk. “Hey, too bad we don’t have some nitroglycerin, right, Alistair?”

“Looks like we’re going to have to dig,” Loghain says, which attracts Shale’s attention.

The golem powers up the drill, the engine roaring to life. It seemed to be going well until about three feet in before the drill began to spark and smoke, slowing to a complete standstill. 

Leliana came running up the line with her tools and pried open the metal door to the engine. “I don’t understand it. I just tuned this thing up this morning.”

Alistair is observing her look over the engine when he notices the boiler. He _knows_ that kind of boiler, he’s spent the past two years in the Royal Denerim Museum basement basically being its damn caretaker. He’s about to offer his assistance when Leliana hauls herself out of the engine.

“It looks like the rotor’s shot, I’m gonna have to pull a spare from one of the trucks.”

“Can I-?” Alistair starts but Leliana jabs him with two fingers.

“Absolutely not. Do not, and I mean do _not_ touch anything.”

Once she’s far enough away, Alistair grabbed a wrench from the toolbox she left and then starts turning valves and pulling levers, waiting for the right moment to smack it. The boiler lets out a burbling hiss and the engine roars back to life.

“Hey, what’d you do?” Leliana asks when she returns.

“This boiler is a Humac P-54/8-13. The one at the museum was an 8-14. The heating on the whole Humac line have always been a little tempermental,” Alistair explains as he closes the engine’s maintenance door. “Sometimes they just need a good whack at the right moment to start working again.”

Leliana rolls her eyes and punches his shoulder, but she’s smiling. “Yeah, yeah, thank you very much, shut up.” 

This time the drill is able to get all the way through the wall without any problems.

\---

“All right, we’ll make camp here,” Loghain announced when they entered a large cavern, with a bridge over abyss and an ornate looking chandelier like structure that glowed green.

“Why is it glowing?” Leliana asks.

“It’s a natural phosphorescence,” Shale answers.

“That thing,” Oghren points a finger at the glowing green light, “is going to keep me up all night, I know it.”

Long after they’ve set up camp, the green light grows dimmer, but doesn’t go out completely. The cook weaved his way around the various camp fires, doling out the last meal of the day. Alistair sits by himself, absentmindedly pushing the food on his plate around as he rereads the journal again.

“We’ve been pretty tough on the kid,” Wynne says to the group. “What do you say we cut him some slack?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Leliana agrees. “Hey Alistair! Why don’t you come sit with us?”

“Really? You don’t mind?” Alistair asks warily, keeping the sudden surge of hope pushed down.

“Nah, park it here,” Leliana gestures to the crate next to her and Wynne. Alistair rises from his current seat and moves over to sit at the fire with them, the Shepherd’s Journal in one hand and his plate in the other.

“Thanks,” Alistair says, trying to fight a smile as he sits. He opens the journal again, which catches Leliana’s eye.

“Hey Alistair, don’t you ever close that book?”

“Yeah, you must have read it a dozen times by now,” Wynne comments.

“I know, but this doesn’t make any sense,” he replies, brows furrowed as he points to a passage in the journal with his spoon. “See, in this passage here, the Shepherd seems to be leading up to something – he calls it the Heart of Arlathan, it could be the power source the legends refer to – but then it just, it cuts off. It’s almost like there’s a missing page.

“Kid, relax. We don’t get paid overtime,” Oghren reminds him.

“I know, I know. Sometimes I get a little carried away,” Alistair tells them with a small smile. “But hey, you know that’s what this is all about, right? I mean, discovery, teamwork, adventure.” He pauses for a moment before continuing, realizing that not everyone may be as excited about finding Arlathan for the sake of finding it as he is. “Unless, maybe, you’re just in it for the money?”

They chime in with “Money,” confirming Alistair’s suspicion. 

“I set myself up for that one,” Alistair huffs out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

Somehow they all end up talking about their pasts as they bed down for the night, and it’s actually pretty great, makes him feel a kinship with all of them.

“I was found in a barn as a young child and handed over to the Circle for training. Discovered I had a knack for healing magic and medicine when one of the research labs caught fire. I served as a field medic in two wars,” Wynne tells them.

“I took this job so my mother wouldn’t have to work another day in her life,” Leliana says as she rolls out her sleeping bag. “She’s back in Val Royeaux with Lady Cecillie.”

“Well, as far as me goes, I just like to blow things up,” Oghren says as he affixes a sleeping mask to over his eyes. Wynne gets up pulls on Oghren’s sleep mask.

“Come on, Oghren, tell the kid the truth.” Then she lets go of it and it slaps the dwarf in the face.

“I was a warrior in the Orzammar Provings. Won every fight, had the best winning streak that anyone had seen in two Ages. Anyway, I guess there was this leak of some kind of gas or something. Boom! No more Janar Armorers. Blew me right through window. It was like a sign from the Ancestors. I found myself in that boom.”

The sound rock settling not too far from them draws Alistair’s attention to Shale as she sits, staring out at nothing.

“What’s Shale’s story?” Alistair asks.

“Trust me on this one you don’t want to know. Leliana,” Wynne jabs a finger in Leliana’s direction, “don’t tell him. You shouldn’t have told me, but you did, and now I’m telling you, you don’t want to know.”

“Forget your jammies, Sten?” Alistair asks as the qunari passes by them.

“I sleep in the nude.”

“You’re going to want these,” Wynne tells him and she tosses him a sleeping mask. “He sleepwalks.”

Then Wynne lifts the glass of the lantern and blows out the flame, allowing darkness to descend.

\---

Figures move under the cover of the cavern’s darkness, the only noticeable light coming from the soft blue glow of the eyes and mouths of their large masks. The one with the most decorated mask snatches up a canvas bag, digging through its contents. The figure pauses when it pulls out a framed black and white photograph of an _Elvhen_ looking woman and a shemlen looking child sitting on her lap. 

The figure is enthralled by this picture, what it might mean, thousands of questions running through their mind. Their head snaps up at the sound of a tent flap opening, scurrying away as Alistair turns on the flashlight.

Yawning and stretching, Alistair tiptoes his way to the edge of camp and tucks the flashlight under his chin as he undoes his belt. The beam of light shines over the glowing chandelier, stirring the bugs within it.

A few the bugs flit around Alistair’s face, his hands batting at them as he struggles to undo the belt buckle in his half asleep state.

Getting more and more irritated he grabs his roll of toilet paper and hits one of the bugs and the roll goes up in flame. With a yelp he drops the roll and sees more of the bugs fly towards the tents, setting them aflame. 

“This is bad,” Alistair says under his breath. A swarm of the bugs descends on the camp and he refastens his belt. “Fire! Fire!”

Loghain grabbed his alarm clock, checking the time. “I’m going to kill him,” he mutters under his breath as he lifts himself off his cot.

He exits his tent to the entire camp going up in flames, thousands of lightning bug like critters flying about, and Cauthrien barking orders.

Cauthrien grabs a crew member by their coat and shoves them towards the tents. “Get some water on that fire!”

“No time! Get us into those caves. Move it, move it!” Loghain bellows.

Everyone abandoned the effort to put out the fires and instead ran for the vehicles and heading for the bridge, Shale’s drill going first. A truck near the back gets swarmed and explodes, the chandelier that once housed the destructive bugs dead drops onto the bridge, making a few trucks swerve, and the bridge begins to crumble under the weight of the drill. The trucks fall from the bridge and onto a steep slope, spinning out and the drivers desperately trying to regain control, everyone shouting and screaming as they slip wildly into the dark.

It’s a long few minutes spent in silence in the pitch black, until Loghain lights a match, the flame wavering and flickering.

“Alright, who’s not dead? Sound off.”

He’s answered by various groans from the crew. Luckily they didn’t lose anyone in the fall, but they lost even more to the fire. Someone finally manages to turn on a truck’s headlights, illuminating the gloom.

“Leliana, give me a damage report.”

“Not as bad as it could have been,” she answers as she looks around the wreckage. “We totaled rigs two and seven, but the digger looks like it’ll still run.” She rubs at her sore thigh. “Lucky for us we landed in something soft.”

“Pumice, ash. We are standing at the base of a dormant volcano,” Shale reports, rubbing the soil in between her stony fingers.

Cauthrien draws a flare gun and shoots upwards. All eyes on the flare as it sails up before fizzling out. “It just keeps going.”

“Maybe that’s our ticket out of here,” Oghren suggests.

“Maybe not.”

“The magma has solidified in the bowels of the volcano, effectively blocking the exit,” Shale explains to the group.

“I got the same problem with sauerkraut,” Sten says.

“Hold on, are you saying this whole volcano can blow at any time?” Wynne asks, warily eyeing the ground.

“No, of course not,” Shale assures them, “that would take an explosive force of great magnitude.”

Loghain looks upwards, thinking of a plan. “If we could blow the top off of that thing we’d have a straight shot to the surface. Mr. Theirin, what do you think?” When there’s no response, Loghain looks about at the faces around him. “Mr. Theirin?”

\---

Alistair regained consciousness with a groan, his vision blurry until three masks with various expressions with glowing eyes and mouths swim into focus. They lightly poke him with the tips of strange looking spears as they speak in hushed tones. Alistair shoots upright then grasping his shoulder with a pained gasp.

The one with the most decorated mask pushes their way in front of the other two, bracing a hand on the rock Alistair is leaned against. Alistair pulls his hand away, fingers wet with blood, and almost misses the mask lifting to reveal their face. It’s a young elven man, no older than Alistair himself, with short hair as white as starlight, intricate red face tattoos, and warm amber eyes filled with concern.

Alistair is dumbstruck, can feel his heart stop before beating double time, his mouth suddenly dry and his breath stolen by his beauty.

The elf drew closer, inspecting the wound, hand firm on Alistair’s shoulder as he raises up the glowing crystal necklace with the other. He taps the crystal against the wound then covers the wound with his hand, pressing down on his chest. When he pulls his hand away there’s a glowing handprint left on Alistair’s chest that quickly fades. 

The wound is gone.

Alistair looks from the now missing wound to the elf, who grins at him before tugging his mask back down. The elf gently brushes his fingers against Alistair’s cheek and he gasps, blood roaring in his ears at the touch.

The sudden slide of rocks and sound of people calling his name breaks the moment, the masked elves bounding away.

“Hey, wait!” Alistair calls out after them scrambling to his feet. He follows their lead as they jump from one rocky ledge to another, the rumbling of Shale’s drill catching up to them. “Who are you? Where are you going?”

He continues to chase after them, climbing and jumping until he pushes his way out of a crack in the rock wall, stumbling out onto a lush cliff, the sound of water rushing loud in his ears as he shouts, “Who are you?” and hears it echo.

The drill breaks through the rock, the crew streaming out around it. Everyone is silently awestruck at the view before them. Ahead of them lies a plateau, water streaming down the sides of it, and in the center are moss and growth covered ruins.

Wynne claps him on the shoulder. “Alistair, I’ve got to hand it to you, you really came through.”

A series of heavy thuds comes from behind them, the masked elves reappearing, pointing their spears at them.

“Who are these guys?” Loghain hisses at Alistair.

And it suddenly hits him, he knows who these people are.

“They gotta be Elvhen,” his voice filled with wonder as he rests his hands on top of his head, linking his fingers.

“What? That’s impossible.”

The leader, Alistair recognizes him by his mask, points an accusing finger at the group and speaks to them in rapid Elvhen.

“I think it’s talking to you,” Shale says, nudging him forward. 

The leader taps his spear against the ground and repeats himself. Alistair manages to catch it this time. Something about ‘who are you’ and ‘why have you come here.’ Alistair wishes he had spent more time practicing speaking the language because he knows his pronunciation was going to be terrible. Hopefully it won’t be so terrible that they’ll make it out of this confrontation in mostly one piece.

_“We are peaceful explorers, we mean no harm. Who are you?”_

The leader removes his mask again, setting it aside, peering at Alistair with curious eyes.

 _“How have you found this place? Elvhen is clearly not your first language, how many do you know?”_ the leader asks, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth, eyes dancing with mirth.

Alistair could feel his face flush. He knows his pronunciation is terrible, thank you very much.

 _“Perhaps Tevene would be easier?”_ Leader switches to the ancient dialect, though there’s a hint of distaste.

 _“A bit, but my modern Tevene is better than my ancient.”_ Alistair answers, then switches to Ciriane. _“Though this I know like the back of my hand.”_

The leader laughs, grin widening and Alistair struggles to not get distracted. They go back and forth like this, switching between various languages and grinning at each other. The other Elvhen seem to take this banter between the two as a sign that the rest of Alistair’s group are friendly and harmless. 

“How do they know all these languages?” Leliana asks, brows drawn together.

“Their language must be based on a root dialect,” Alistair guesses. It would explain how they know specific modern languages without having been previously exposed to them.

“Well maybe Common is in there somewhere.” Loghain rests his hand on Alistair’s shoulder before speaking up. “We are explorers from the surface world. We come in peace.”

“Welcome to the city of Arlathan,” the leader greets, speaking Common perfectly, who then reaches out, his hand encircling Alistair’s wrist and leading him to a rickety looking bridge. “You must speak with our Keeper now.”

“Squad B, head back to the shaft and salvage what you can. Rendezvous in 24 hours,” Loghain orders and the remaining crew splits into two groups; one returning to the dormant volcano, the other following the Elvhen into the city.

\---

Cauthrien observes Alistair and the leader of the Elvhen group speaking with one another in rapid fire succession, both obviously enthusiastic about whatever they’re talking about, from her seat in the truck Loghain is driving.

“Someone’s having a good time,” she remarks to her superior.

“Like a kid at Satinalia.”

She’s quiet, face turning serious. “Commander, there were not supposed to be people down here. It changes everything.”

“This changes nothing.” His face has also gone serious, voice low to keep from being overheard.

\---

Two guards with green face tattoos step aside when they see who is with the group of strangers and push the grand doors open for them. The throne room is mostly water, a pond of some kind with stepping stones and lily pads, vines and moss growing on the pillars. On the other side of the pond sat two elderly Elvhen women, both with long white hair tied in elaborate braids. One sits with perfect posture, the other lies reclined on soft cushions, a broken and crumbling statue towering over them, water flowing from its eyes imitating tears.

They cross over the pond, stepping carefully on the damp stepping stones. The young Elvhen man Alistair had been conversing with comes to a stop at the beginnings of a small set of stairs that led up to the Elvhen women, going down on one knee before them, bowing his head in deference. Alistair does the same.

_“Greetings Keeper. I have brought the visitors.”_

The one reclining on the soft cushions speaks, voice rattling in her chest. _“You know the law, Atuan. No outsiders may see the city and live.”_

_“Marethari… these people may be able to help us.”_

The Keeper gives a sharp shake of her head. _“We do not need their help.”_

 _“But Marethari…”_ the young elf’s tone turns pleading.

_“That is enough. We’ll discuss this later.”_

The young elf bows his head once more, lips pressed tight as if to keep himself from speaking out further. So far the other Elvhen woman has remained silent, though she watches them with caution.

“Your majesty,” Loghain begins, all eyes settling on him as he speaks. “On behalf of my crew, may I say it is an honor to be welcomed to your city?”

Alistair clears his throat. “Excuse me, commander…”

“You presume much, to think you are welcome here,” the Keeper replies.

Her cold attitude doesn’t seem to put Loghain off at all. 

“Ma’am, we have come a long way looking for–”

“I know what you seek,” Marethari interrupts, “and you will not find it here. Your journey has been in vain.”

“We are but peaceful explorers, men of science –”

Marethari chuckles, gesturing to Loghain’s hip, where he has his gun holster. “And yet you bring weapons,” she counters.

“Our weapons allow us to remove… obstacles, we may encounter.”

Alistair feels a chill run down his spine at the way Loghain words that. Surely Alistair is imaging that vaguely threatening tone.

“Some obstacles cannot be removed with a mere show of force,” the Keeper says, leaning forward, grabbing her staff, and using the momentum to get to her feet in one fluid movement. “Return to your people, you must leave Arlathan at once.”

“Keeper, be reasonable.”

“Commander,” Alistair says quietly as he gets to his feet.

“Not now,” Loghain grounds out just as quiet.

“Sir, trust me on this. We better do as he says,” Alistair persists.

“May I respectfully request that we stay one night? That would give us time to rest, resupply, and be ready to travel by morning.”

“Very well. One night. That is all.”

“Thank you, Keeper.” Loghain bows and heads for the exit. Cauthrien and Alistair follow, though Alistair looks back over his shoulder at Atuan. Their gazes lock for a moment, sadness and a bit of regret, before that connection breaks, and the door closes behind the humans.

Marethari sits down again with Ashalle’s help, though the effort is great. 

“Hmm, your heart has softened, Atuan. A thousand years ago you would have slain them on sight.”

“A thousand years ago the streets were lit and our people did not have to scavenge for food at the edge of a crumbling city,” Atuan retorts, frustration slipping into his tone as he ascended the stairs to light the hanging lamp with his crystal.

“Our people are content,” Marethari points out.

“Because they do not _know_ any better!” Atuan’s voice rises, but not quite shouting. “We were once a great people, now we live in ruins. The Keepers of our past would weep if they could see how far we have fallen.”

“Atuan,” Ashalle chides as she brings over a bowl of water and cloth. Atuan takes the damp cloth Ashalle holds out for him and uses it to wipe Marethari’s forehead.

“If these Outsiders can unlock the secrets of our past perhaps we can save our future.” The frustration has left his voice now, pleading once more.

“What they have to teach us, we have already learned.” Marethari rasps out, her hand gripping Atuan’s wrist gently.

“Our way of life is dying.”

“Our way of life is preserved,” she says firmly. “Atuan, when you take the throne and become Keeper, you will understand.”

Atuan does not look convinced.

\---

“So how did it go?” Wynne asks as Loghain, Cauthrien, and Alistair descend the palace steps.

“The Keeper and her… son, I guess, don’t exactly see eye to eye,” Alistair answers as he goes back to reading through the journal for something, anything. “He seems to like us okay, but the Keeper? I don’t know, I think she’s hiding something.”

“Well, if she’s hiding something I want to know what it is,” Loghain says.

Cauthrien looks at Alistair with a calculating gaze. “Someone needs to talk to that boy.”

“Someone with good people skills,” Oghren adds.

“Someone who can speak the language,” Sten comments.

Loghain pats Alistair’s shoulder. “Good man, Theirin. Thanks for volunteering.”

Alistair looks stunned, like a deer in the headlights, as the words sink in.

Leliana punches his arm as she goes to join the rest of the crew heading down the stairs. “Go get him, tiger.”

\---

Alistair peers around a moss covered column, waiting for Atuan to emerge from the palace. The set of doors open, Atuan slipping between them, heading his way down the column lined walkway. Alistair takes a deep breath to center himself.

“Okay Alistair, don’t take no for an answer. ‘Look, I have some questions for you and I’m not leaving the city until they’re answered.’ Yeah, that’s it. That’s good.”

However when he looks around the column once more, Atuan has disappeared. He steps out from around his cover, confused at where the elf could have gone, that he doesn’t notice Atuan drop down behind him until his left arm is held in a tight grip, a hand covering his mouth, and a wall of heat pressed against his back.

“I have some questions for you and you’re not leaving this city until they are answered,” Atuan whispers into his ears.

“Yeah well I – okay.” Alistair replies, managing to break free from the hand over his mouth briefly.

Atuan shushes him. “Come with me.”

Alistair can’t bring himself to say no to that look on Atuan’s face. He tries not to think about what this means.


	3. Chapter 3

Alistair follows Atuan’s lead, crawling through vines and various plants growing on one of the pillars, careful to not get soaked from the water that runs down. He’s so in awe of this place, nothing has he ever seen before looked half as amazing, that he doesn’t realize that he’s stopped moving until Atuan starts pulling him along, hand wrapped firmly around Alistair’s.

Eventually they come to an area that looks like an overgrown garden with dilapidated buildings and smashed statues. Atuan climbs down first with ease while Alistair takes his time so as to not make a fool of himself with his clumsiness.

“I have so much to ask about your world!” Atuan tells him, excitement radiating off of him in waves. “You are a scholar yes?” he asks as he helps Alistair down. “It is hard to tell with you. Your skill with language and knowledge of our culture indicates you are, but your physique suggests otherwise.”

Atuan barrels on with his questions, grinning all the while, before Alistair can begin to form an answer. “What is your country of origin? When did the flood waters recede? How did you - ?”

“Hold on a minute,” Alistair chuckles, finding Atuan’s curious nature to be endearing, but he also needs answers as well and there’s an easy compromise. “I got a few questions for you too. So let’s do this, okay? You ask one, then I’ll ask one, then you, then – well, you get it.”

Atuan smiles at him. It looks fond, like he’s indulging an eccentric whim, and it just makes Alistair’s grin grow wider. “Very well. What is your first question?” Atuan concedes. 

“Well, okay, uh,” Alistiar says, trying to figure out how to word this. Maybe he should’ve let Atuan ask first? “How did you get here? Not you specifically, but your culture. I mean, how did all of this,” Alistair gestures vaguely to their surroundings, “end up down here?”

The Elvhen man beckons for Alistair to follow him as he walks deeper into the overgrown garden. “It is said that the gods became jealous of Arlathan. They sent a great cataclysm and banished us here. All I can remember is the sky going dark and people shouting and running,” his face has grown somber, eyes dark with memories. “And… a bright _light,_ like a star, floating above the city.”

Atuan leans against a mostly destroyed pillar, gaze unfocused but looking out over the over growth and small animals scurrying away from their presence amongst the ruins. “After my mother’s death, Ashalle told me it called my father to it. I never saw him again,” he finishes softly, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” Alistair says, voice just as quiet. “If it’s any consolation, I know how you feel because I lost my mother when I was young and I never really knew my father.” They share a smile before the rest of Atuan’s words fully sink in.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, whoa, back up,” Alistair says, voice fraught with mounting confusion. “Are you telling me that you remember because you were there? That’s impossible, because that would make you at least eighty-eight hundred years old.

Atuan tilts his head slightly in his confusion to Alistair’s confusion. “Yes.”

“Oh, hey, looking good,” Alistair says, chuckling a bit nervously. Because of course nothing down here would be even remotely normal. They hadn’t been expecting people down here and what do they find? People. Not only are they surviving fairly well down here, they were actually here when Arlathan fell in the first place. Of course the guy he’s practically in head-over-heels, love at first sight – hey wait no, don’t go there it’s too soon for that. Alistair clears his throat, banishing those thoughts from his mind. “You got another question for me?”

“Yes. How is it you found your way to this place?”

Oh thank the Maker, perfect distraction. He pulls the Shepherd’s Journal from his bag as he answers. “Well, I’ll tell you, it wasn’t easy. If it weren’t for this book we never would have made it.”

Alistair holds the book out and Atuan takes it from him, immediately opening it and flipping through the pages, lightly tracing the words with his fingertips.

“Okay, second question: legend has it that your people possessed a power source of some kind–”

“You mean… you can understand this?”

“Yes, I’m a linguist,” Alistair explains to him. “That’s what I do. That’s my job. Now, getting back to my question.”

Atuan turns to him, practically shoving the book in Alistair’s face, pointing to the Elvish writing. “This right here, you can read this?”

There’s something oddly desperate about Atuan’s words, unease settling along Alistair’s spine.

“Yes, yes, I can read Elvish, just like you,” Alistair tries to assure him, but there’s a crestfallen look on his face and Alistair can’t figure out why and – oh. _Oh._

“You can’t, can you?” he asks but the look on Atuan’s face is all the answer he needs.

“No one can,” Atuan admits as he continues to flip through the pages, as if doing so would maybe suddenly grant him the ability to read. “Such knowledge has been lost to us since the flood.”

A heavy weight settles in Alistair’s stomach, but before he can dwell on the revelation, Atuan presses the journal to the human’s chest, a small smile gracing his features once more. “Show me.”

Alistair reads aloud from the book to Atuan, a grin on his own face as the elf listens and translates it back in Common. “Follow the narrow passage for another league, there you will find the fifth marker.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s it,” Alistair confirms, excitement tinging his voice. “How was my accent?”

“Boorish, provincial, and you speak it through your nose,” Atuan points out, though his eyes shine in a way that shows he’s teasing a little. 

“Yeah, gotta work on that,” Alistair replies sheepishly.

He tugs at Alistair’s shirt as he starts heading deeper into the overgrown ruins. “Here, let me show you something.”

Atuan leads him further in, ducking and weaving around trees and ferns and pillars, across a pond that has stepping stones laid in a peculiar pattern similar to the ones in the palace’s throne room, until finally they arrive in an area that has been mostly cleared of overgrowth and crumbled stone. In the center of it, there’s a cloth sheet covering something.

Atuan bites his bottom lip, trying to hold back his excitement in sharing his found treasure with someone who will surely appreciate it, and removes the sheet with a flourish. What remained was a strange looking mechanical contraption that strongly resembled a coelacanth.

“It looks like some sort of vehicle,” Alistair remarks as he draws closer to it, crouching down and carefully placing a hand on its surface.

“It is. I remember when the flood happened, many of these returned to the city just before the waters caught up to them. They’ve been left lying around the city ever since. No matter what I try it will not respond,” Atuan explains as he crouches down next to Alistair.

The human nods and moves over to the pilot’s seat and takes a look at the control pad, reading the Elvish around it.

“Place crystal into slot.”

“Yes, yes, I have done that,” Atuan says as he begins to slowly pace back and forth.

“Gently place your hand on the inscription pad…”

“Yes.”

“Okay, did you turn the crystal one-quarter turn back?”

“Yes, yes.”

“While your hand was on the inscription pad?”

“Ye- no.”

Alistair steps back from it and gestures for Atuan to try activating it. After following all of the steps, the eyes and the lines carved into it lit up in that soft glowing blue, a soft whine emitting from it as it began to rise from the ground. Atuan quickly stepped away from it, his back pressing up against Alistair’s chest, and both looking at the now levitating ship in awe.

“This is great. Oh, with this thing we could see the entire city in no time at all,” he says as they both move closer to the ship. Alistair taps the center of the control pad. “I wonder how fast this thing goes…”

It responds immediately to the touch, shooting forward and glancing off the ruined walls around them, and they dive to the ground as it barrels towards them. When they look up it’s crashed into the tile floor, sparking and sputtering before shutting down.

“Whoops.”

Atuan laughs, rising to his feet and holding a hand out to help Alistair up. “Come, there is another way to see all of Arlathan.”

\---

“So, I don’t know if I introduced myself earlier, but my name is Alistair.” He grunts as he lifts himself higher, fists gripping the vines tight. “Yours is Atuan, right? I heard the Keeper call you that, but I wasn’t sure if it was your name or your title.”

“Good to meet you, Alistair. And yes, Atuan is my name and not my title.” 

As they ascend, Alistair makes sure to keep his eyes either in front of him or focused on the sky, so as not to look down. He’s normally pretty good with heights, but usually he’s not free climbing hundreds of feet on something that could potentially crumble beneath him. At the top there’s plenty of flat surface for them to stand, Atuan holding onto Alistair’s hands to help them both keep their balance, the wind ruffling their hair.

“Wow,” Alistair murmurs. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Atuan whispers to him, their shoulders pressed together as they look out over the city.

“Yes.” He can feel his eyes sting – tears welling up – as he thinks of how much his mother would have loved to see this place, to see Arlathan, to know that she had been right all along. More than right really, seeing as how the Elvhen were still here.

Gentle fingers brush his cheek, wiping away a few stray tears. “What is wrong?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just… You know my mother used to tell me stories about this place as far back as I can remember. I just wish she could’ve been here to see this.”

“You hold her in your heart, so in a way, she is seeing this.”

They share a smile and stay up on top of the gigantic statue for a few minutes longer before climbing back down.

\---

Atuan takes him down to the ruins that are used as docks and as a fishing spot, some Elvhen on stilts in the deep waters, catching fish with spears, some sitting on the makeshift dock using bag traps to catch lobster-like creatures. Most of them call out cheerful greetings when they catch sight of Atuan and Alistair. One tosses a not-lobster to Alistair.

Fumbling with it at first, he’s saved from it curling around his arm when Atuan sinks his teeth into its neck.

“Be nice, Tamlen!” Atuan calls out to the fisherman, tucking the lobster thing into Alistair’s bag.

The working elves laugh before returning to their fishing.

“I take it he’s not too thrilled about us being here?” Alistair asks as Atuan leads them away from the docks and towards the bustling market place.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Atuan hedges. “He is… wary of you and your companions. Tamlen doesn’t necessarily hold the same opinion as Keeper Marethari, but neither does he hold mine.”

Alistair hums in acceptance and decides not to push the topic. As they wander among the stalls, they come across one that does tattoos.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, there’s a lot of people with tattoos, is there some kind of significance to them?”

“The _vallaslin?_ When a child comes of age they choose which of our gods they’d like to honor and have their symbols etched into their skin.” Atuan taps at his own cheek, pointing at the red facial tattoos. “When I came of age I chose Dirthamen.”

“Wow, look at all of those,” Leliana says, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. 

“If you’d like to, I’m sure they would be honored to give you one,” Atuan says to the red headed woman. She politely shakes her head.

“Oh, no thank you. I still have to tend to the engines and it’s better if I’m not sore, though I would love to watch the process.”

Atuan smiles and nods before introducing Leliana to the elderly man doing the tattoos. When he returns to Alistair’s side he gently nudges him towards the edge of the market. “There’s still more to see.”

\---

Long after the light over Arlathan has dimmed for the night and the soft nighttime sounds of animals and insects have started up, Loghain signals for his squad to head for the trucks and begin to unload certain crates.

\---

After an evening meal with Alistair’s companions and Atuan’s friends, Merrill and Tamlen, Atuan led Alistair to another secluded part of the overgrown ruins, though instead of going to try starting up another ship, the elf instead took him to a large pool of water, lily pads and brightly colored flowers drifting across its surface, and that had stone steps leading off into the murky depths. A lot of the light in the area was provided by what Alistair recognized as the same type of bug that had set their camp on fire.

“You know, Atuan, the most we ever hoped to find was some crumbling buildings, maybe some broken pottery,” Alistair comments as he cups his hands around one of the fireflies when it lands on a nearby fern. “Instead we find a living, thriving society.”

He opens his hands to release it, though it decides to just crawl along his arm. “These guys are kinda cute when they’re not, you know, formed into a fiery column of death,” Alistair huffs out an amused breath, carefully nudging the bug into the open lantern Atuan is carrying.

Atuan shakes his head, mood somber and a solemn look on his face and in his voice, as he closes the now filled lantern back up. “We are not thriving. True, our people live, but our culture is dying. We are like a stone the ocean beats against. With each passing year, a little more of us is worn away.”

And that breaks Alistair’s heart. In a way, he’d realized that earlier in the day, perhaps when Atuan admitted to not being able to read, that no one in Arlathan could read their language anymore and hadn’t been able to since the city sank beneath the ocean.

“I wish there was something I could do.”

“I have brought you here to ask you for your help. There is a mural here, with writing all around the pictures.”

Alistair gives him a small smile, taking the lantern from him and planting it by a toppled over pillar with writing etched around it in a band. “Well, you came to the guy. Okay, let’s start with this column right here… uh, Atuan? What are you doing?”

He trails off, mouth slightly parted and cheeks flushed brightly when he looks over at Atuan again, the elf standing in the water and untying the knot that kept the cloth secured around his hips. 

“You do swim, do you not?” Atuan asks, tossing his clothing onto the steps.

“I swim pretty guy – pretty good, pretty good. I swim pretty good,” he stammers, unable to tear his eyes away from Atuan.

“Good, it is a fair distance to where we are going, though it will more than likely be easier to get there if you shed some layers.”

“Right, you’re right,” and he’s tripping over his words again as he strips down. When he looks back up there’s a glint of mischievousness and something else that makes Alistair’s heartbeat speed up and his mouth dry.

“Keep close and follow me,” Atuan says softly when Alistair wades into the water after him.

They dive beneath the water’s calm surface, the dark around them lit up by Atuan’s crystal. There were twice as many ruins down here as there was above them, though the only inhabitants down here were fish and seaweed. 

Alistair follows him easily, swimming in between ruined buildings and structures, along long forgotten streets. Eventually, Atuan leads him into a rather large and ornate ruin, right to a pocket of air. 

“Are you alright?” Atuan asks, placing his hands on Alistair’s cheeks, tilting his head this way and that to check for any possible injuries.

“Well, I didn’t drown, so I’d say I’m doing fine.”

“Good. Follow me.” Then Atuan dives back down into the water, Alistair not far behind.

They end up in front of a large, almost perfectly preserved mosaic made up of jewels and brightly colored tiles. It depicted a large white-blue star, with people on the backs of large coelacanths – much like the one Atuan had showed him earlier in the overgrown garden – and others in bright robes, all held within a ring of Elvish text.

Alistair pointed back to the pocket of air after he read some of the text.

“It’s amazing,” Alistair said once the resurfaced in the air pocket. “It’s a complete history of Arlathan. It’s just like Genitivi described it – well, he was off about a few details, but –”

“The light I saw, the star in the middle of the city, what does the writing say about that?”

“I don’t know yet, but we’re going to find out,” Alistair answered honestly. He’s just thankful that he’s a fairly fast reader, otherwise this could potentially take a very long time, and while the both of them may be good swimmers, they will get tired eventually.

They dive down again, this time going to a different mosaic, this one depicting the white-blue star as well, but it is surrounded by robed figures with outstretched arms which in turn are surrounded by giant figures with glowing eyes, completely encircled by some kind of power or light.

They swim to the edge of the mosaic, the light from Atuan’s crystal exposing more of it. At the edge of the giant figures are various ships and armies, (some that Alistair recognizes, others he does not) all falling in defeat.

In another there was only the star and the robed figures with outstretched arms, beams of light from their necklaces connecting them to the star. 

Alistair faces Atuan, grasping the crystal and pointing at it before pointing back to the air pocket.

“The Heart of Arlathan,” Alistair gasps out once they’ve both resurfaced.

“What?”

“It’s the Heart of Arlathan. That’s what the shepherd was talking about! It wasn’t a star, it was some kind of crystal, like these,” Alistair explains, holding up Atuan’s necklace. “The power source I’ve been looking for, the bright light you remember; they’re the same thing.”

“That cannot be,” Atuan murmurs in disbelief.

“It’s what’s keeping all these things – you, all of Arlathan – alive.”

“Then where is it now? Where did it go?” Atuan asks.

“I don’t know. You’d think something this important would’ve been in the journal, but… unless…” Alistair trails off. “The missing page.”

\---

There’s nothing left for them to learn from the mosaics, and Atuan agrees that they should head back before their limbs grow tired.

Alistair broke through the surface of the pool first, only to be greeted by early morning light and the entire crew waiting for him with guns. Loghain is seated on the steps, a handgun in his right hand, his forearms resting on his thighs. He leans forward, a bland smile on his face as he asks, “You have a nice swim?”

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” Alistair asks. “What’s with all the guns? Guys?”

Realization dawns on him then. Letting out a heavy sigh, he roughly runs a hand through his wet hair. “I’m such an idiot,” he mutters. “This is another treasure hunt for you – you’re after the crystal.”

“Oh, you mean this?” Loghain asks, feigning ignorance, as he pulls a piece of paper from his boot; it’s the missing page. 

“The Heart of Arlathan,” Alistair murmurs, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah, about that,” Loghain says as he stands, “I would have told you sooner, but it was strictly on a need-to-know basis, and, well, now you know. I had to be sure you were one of us.”

Loghain holsters his gun and holds out his hand to Alistair. “Welcome to the club, son,” he says with a smirk. 

Alistair reared back, away from Loghain, his face distorting into disgust. “I’m no mercenary,” Alistair spits out. Loghain’s eyes narrow, and with a snap of his fingers there are now five guns pointing at Alistair.

“Get out of the water. Slowly. Don’t want you pulling any kind of trick,” Loghain orders. Alistair scowls but does as he says.

Of course this is when Atuan surfaces. He hisses when one of Loghain’s masked soldiers grabs him by the hair, pulling him out of the water. Atuan snarls, grabbing the soldier by the head and tossing him into the water with ease. Two more rush him, but Atuan grabs one’s rifle, using it to hit the other to the ground, before tackling the first one, the both of them still fighting over the gun. Atuan pins the soldier and pulls out a dagger, which gets shot out of his hand by Loghain.

Two more soldiers rush over and pull Atuan away by his arms.

“Mercenary… I prefer the term ‘adventure capitalist.’ Besides, you’re the one who got us here. You led us right to the treasure chest,” Loghain says, holding up the page and giving it a little shake for emphasis.

“You don’t know what you’re tampering with, Mac Tir,” Alistair bites out.

“What’s to know?” Loghain brushes off nonchalantly. “It’s big, it’s shiny, it’s gonna make us all rich.”

“You think it’s some kind of a diamond, I thought it was some kind of a battery, but we’re _both_ wrong. It’s their life force. That crystal is the only thing keeping these people alive, you take that away and they’ll die!”

“Well, that changes things. Cauthrien, what do you think?”

Cauthrien steps forward and takes the page from Loghain, taking a look at it before handing it back. “Well, knowing that… I’d double the price.”

“I was thinking triple.”

“Mac Tir, don’t do this,” Alistair pleads. He can’t let the Elvhen, can’t let Atuan die to satiate the greed of people he had thought he could trust.

“Academics,” Loghain snorts derisively. “You never want to get your hands dirty. Think about it, if you gave back every stolen artifact from a museum, you’d be left with an empty building. We’re just providing a necessary service to the archeological community.”

“Not interested,” Alistair grits out.

“I gotta admit, I’m disappointed. You’re an idealist, just like your mother. Do yourself a favor, Alistair, don’t be like her. For once, do the smart thing,” Loghain says with a grin, tapping the side of his head. At Alistair’s glare he sighs. “I really hate it when negotiations go sour.”

With a snap of his fingers the two soldiers restraining Atuan shove him to ground and point their rifles at him, guns cocking. Dread settles like a heavy stone in the pit of Alistair’s stomach.

“Let’s try this again,” Loghain says as he holds out the page for Alistair to read and translate.

\---

There’s fire and smoke and a thunderous cracking sound and then the throne room doors are flying apart, scattering rubble across the room.

“Knock, knock,” Oghren says, continuously tossing and catching a stick of dynamite.

The palace guards brandish their spears, forming a wall in front of the pond that leads to the throne. Cauthrien pulls out her gun, cocks it, then jams it into Atuan’s lower back, her grip on his arm tightens as he hisses and arches away from the cold metal. Ashalle lets out a small gasp from where she is seated next to Marethari and moves to rush over, but Marethari grasps her wrist to keep her from moving.

“Tell them to drop their weapons, now,” she tells the Keeper.

_“Do as she says, put down your weapons.”_

The spears meet the floor with a clang, and the soldiers and crew begin to tear the room apart.

“You’re not applying yourself, son,” Loghain growls as he grips the back of Alistair’s shirt and shoves the book into his chest. “There’s gotta be something else.”

“Well there isn’t,” Alistair tells him. “it just says ‘The Heart of Arlathan lies in the eyes of our Keeper.’”

Loghain shoves Alistair away and stalks over to the Keeper where she stands with Ashalle at her side. “Well then maybe the Keeper can give us some insight and help us fill in the blanks. How about? Where’s the crystal chamber?”

“You will destroy yourselves,” Keeper Marethari tells him.

“Maybe I’m not being clear.” And that is all the warning Loghain gives before hitting her low in her gut and she falls, Atuan and Ashalle both yelling. Cauthrien’s grip holds fast on Atuan and Ashalle drops to her knees, rolling Marethari onto her side just as Wynne rushes over.

“Mac Tir, this was not part of the plan,” Wynne snaps at him as she and Ashalle begin to tend to the Keeper.

“Plans change, doc. I suggest you put a bandage on that bleeding heart of yours, it doesn’t suit a mercenary.”

Loghain sits on the throne, kicking his feet up onto the small table in front of it, knocking over a bowl of fruit.

“Well, as usual, diplomacy has failed us,” he says wearily, cocking his gun as two soldiers step over and lift the Keeper from the ground. “Now I’m going to count to ten, and you’re going to tell me where the crystal is. One, two, _nine,_ te–”

His voice trails off as he lowers the gun and lifts the book, looking from the spiral on the cover to the pattern of the stepping stones.

“‘The Heart of Arlathan lies in the eyes of our Keeper,’” Loghain recites. He rises from the throne and tosses the journal to Alistair and wades into the pool of water, to the center of the spiral pattern of the stones. “This is it, we’re in!”

“Mac Tir, for the last time you’ve got to listen to me,” Alistair tries. “You don’t have the slightest idea what this power is capable of.”

“True,” Cauthrien admits, shoving Atuan into the water and following after him, herding the both of them to follow Loghain. “But I can think of a few countries who’d pay anything to find out.”

As soon as they all step onto the platform it begins to sink down and Cauthrien releases her grip on Atuan, who moves close to Alistair’s side, their hands clasped together tightly. The four of them descend into a cavern, every surface carved with sprawling lines, the only light coming from a glowing orb, floating above an endlessly deep pool of water, surrounded by hovering totems that had the faces of Keepers past carved into their stony surface.

“Jackpot.”

“Oh,” Atuan breathes as they all look at the Heart. Tears well up in his eyes. “The Keepers of our past.”

He falls to his knees and presses his forehead to the ground, whispering fervent prayers to it.

Loghain rolls his eyes. “Theirin, tell him to wrap it up. We got a schedule to keep.”

Alistair narrows his eyes at the older man before moving over to Atuan and crouching down next to him, placing a hand on his back, startling the elf.

“Atuan,” he says softly, guiding him to his feet. “I’m sorry.”

Loghain walks to the edge of the shore and kicks a pebble into the water, watching the Heart the entire time. The ripples are small, but still disturb the Heart nevertheless as the calming blue glow turns an angry red.

“Come on, let’s get this over with,” Cauthrien demands. “I don’t like this place.”

Loghain twists around to look at Alistair. “All right, Theirin, what’s next?”

Tendrils of light dance along the cavern walls, entrancing Atuan, as if calling out to him, beckoning for him to come closer. One of the beams land on him, lifting his crystal.

“Okay, there’s a giant crystal hovering 150 feet above our heads over a bottomless pit of water. Doesn’t anything surprise you?”

“The only thing that surprises me…”

Atuan has tuned out the conversation around him at this point, focusing solely on the Heart and the voices that called out to him from it.

 _“Papae.”_ A smile on his face before his amber eyes glow electric blue and his expression turns blank.

“That thing’s not on the truck yet, now move it!” Loghain finishes.

“I don’t know how to move it,” Alistair argues. “I don’t even know what’s holding it up there!”

They both cease their argument as Atuan passes by them, the light following him like a spotlight. Alistair moves as if to follow him, but Mac Tir presses his hand against the younger man’s chest which stills him. Atuan pauses at the edge of the water.

“Talk to me, Theirin. What’s happening?”

Alistair holds up the open book, pointing at a certain point in the text. “Look, all it says here is that the crystal is alive, somehow. It… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s their deity. It’s their power source.”

“Speak Common, professor.”

“They’re part of it. It’s a part of them. I’m doing the best I can here.”

“Well, do better.” Loghain says and gestures to his gun,

“Oh, I know,” Alistair says, voice rising with every word, clearly fed up with this entire situation. “Why don’t you translate, and I’ll wave the gun around?”

Atuan turned slowly from the shore to face them, but his voice sounded odd when he spoke, like it was layered, like there was more than one person speaking. _“All will be well, Alistair Theirin. Be not afraid.”_

All arguments stopped, everyone shocked. Alistair was confused at the words and the unblinking electric blue.

“What did he say?” Loghain asks.

“I don’t know. I didn’t catch it,” Alistair lies, and for once, he’s glad he’s able to do it convincingly.

The situation goes from strange to weird as Atuan turns again and begins to walk across the water, ripples spreading out from where his feet meet the calm surface. He doesn’t stop walking until he is directly under the Heart. Once there, the totems flare out, like a flower in bloom, and the other tendrils of light circle closer and closer to Atuan, until they all join into one beam of light. There’s a flash of light and then the elf is rising into the air towards the giant crystal. 

The carved totems begin to spin, faster and faster, around the crystal and Atuan, a series of flashes going off. For long moments, there was nothing but wind whipping their faces and lightning arcing out from the Heart. When the totems slowed, there was only Atuan left, but he looked… wrong. He shone and shimmered and floated back down to the water, hovering inches above it.

Alistair steps forward, planning on wading out to him, but Loghain’s hand on his shoulder stops him. “Hold your horses, lover boy.”

“Atuan,” Alistair calls out.

Atuan’s eyes snap open, just as shiny and shimmering as the rest of him.

“Atuan,” Alistair breathes out.

The totems begin to fall, one by one, crashing into the water below, all around Atuan as he walks slowly back to shore. The splashing water never touches Atuan, the outlines of a protective sphere just barely visible where the water touches it.

Loghain reaches out as Atuan approaches, curiosity getting the better of him for a brief moment before Alistair interrupts him.

“No don’t. Don’t touch him,” he cautions. He’s not entirely sure what would happen if _anyone_ touched Atuan while he was in this state.

\---

Leliana tightens the last bolts of the metal container that they led Atuan too once the masked soldiers lift the last metal wall into place. When she looks up she can see Alistair glaring at her from where he stands in front of a crowd of gathered Elvhen. Guilt churns unpleasantly in her stomach, but she needs the money. She sends him a sour look of her own as she hopes down from the top of the container.

Atuan’s eyes close and the observation window frosts over.

The masked soldiers keep the Elvhen people from drawing any closer and push Alistair back, away from the truck.

“So… I guess this is how it ends, huh?” Alistair asks. “Fine, you win. You’re wiping out an entire civilization, but hey… you’ll be rich. Congratulations, Leliana. Guess your mom really will never have to work another day in her life. All it cost was the lives of innocent people.”

Leliana pauses, halfway into the driver’s seat. Hesitation, but ultimately she gets in, slamming the door shut.

“And Oghren, I’m sure your son would be very proud of you. But that’s what it’s all about, right? Money,” Alistair spits the last word out

Oghren looks away, shame crawling onto his face.

“Get off your soapbox, Theirin. You’ve read Amell. It’s called natural selection.” Loghain taps the side of Alistair’s arm, unbothered by the look of disgust the other man is giving him. “We’re just helping it along.”

“Commander, we’re ready,” Cauthrien calls out.

“Yeah, give me a minute. I know I’m forgetting something. I got the cargo, the crystal, the crew…” Loghain’s face lights up in remembrance, “Oh, yeah.”

He slams his fist into Alistair’s jaw hard enough to knock him to the ground and his bag falling next to him, the picture of his mother and him clattering out against the tiles.

“Look at it this way, son,” Loghain says, crunching the picture frame’s glass beneath his boot. “You were the man who discovered Arlathan, and now, you’re part of the exhibit.”

Alistair wipes the blood from his mouth away, having bit his cheek when the punch landed on him, as Loghain walks away, and carefully pries the photo from the now destroyed frame.

Looking at it, he can’t help but feel like he’s failed everyone. His mother, Mr. Duncan, the Elvhen, Atuan. If he had given up on his dream back in Denerim then none of this would be happening. 

“Let’s move, people,” Loghain orders.

Leliana hesitates.

“That was an order, not a suggestion. Let’s go!” Cauthrien barks out.

Leliana sighs, making up her mind. She kicks the driver’s side door open and gets out. Sticking her hands in her overalls’ pockets, she strides over to Alistair and helps him up. Leliana looks over at the crew, her gaze locking onto Oghren’s. 

Squaring his shoulders, Oghren nudges Shale’s arm and heads over to Alistair as well. Shale looks over at Sten, who is still sitting in the truck, and then she follows Oghren’s lead. Sten sighs heavily, muttering “We’re all going to die,” as he gets out to follow after them.

Loghain fixes the side mirror of the truck, thinking that he’ll only see a defeated looking Alistair Theirin, but instead finds the team standing with him. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“This is wrong, and you know it,” Leliana shouts at him.

“We’re this close to our biggest payday ever, and you pick now of all times to grow a conscience?” 

“We’ve done a lot of things we’re not proud of, robbing graves, plundering tombs, double parking, but nobody got hurt.” Oghren says, but then quickly amends. “Well, maybe somebody got hurt, but nobody we knew.”

Loghain scoffs. “Well, if that’s the way you want it, fine. More for me.”

He climbs into the truck and starts it up, leading the other truck across the bridge. Alistair felt his heart sink when the light from the crystal necklaces of the ELvhen around him grew dim.

“We can’t let him do this!” And then he’s heading towards the bridge himself.

“Wait a second,” Oghren shouts, grabbing the back of Alistair’s shirt and hauling him away from it. The trucks have finished crossing and the explosives go off, effectively keeping them from following.

“Alistair,” an unfamiliar voice calls. He and Oghren turn to see the other elderly Elvhen woman from the throne room racing down the stairs on light feet. Her name is Ashalle, if he’s remembering right. “You better come with me. The Keeper is asking for you.”

\---

In the throne room, Wynne is kneeling by the Keeper’s side, the palace guards look on in concern. 

“How is she?” Alistair asks as he and Ashalle draw near.

“Not good, I’m afraid,” Wynne answers, the lines in her face more pronounced from the stress of the last few hours. “Internal bleeding. I don’t have the proper equipment to deal with this, there’s nothing more I can do.”

“What a nightmare. And I brought it here,” Alistair says dejectedly, running a hand through his hair.

“Ah, don’t go beating yourself up,” Wynne chides him. “That man has been after that crystal since Kal-Hirol.”

“Crystal… The crystal! Wynne, that’s it,” Alistair says as he lifts the Keeper’s necklace to show Wynne, the blow glow dull. “These crystals, they have some sort of healing energy. I’ve seen it work.”

Wynne’s face lights up in hope before the Keeper rasps out a firm “No.”

Her hand wraps around Alistair’s, causing his fingers to curl around the crystal. “Where is Atuan?”

“Well, he… he…”

“He has been chosen, like his father before him,” Ashalle answers.

“What?” Alistair is confused. Chosen? Chosen how?"

“In times of danger, the crystal will choose a host, one of royal blood to protect itself and its people. It will accept no other.”

“W-wait a minute. Choose? So this thing is alive?” Alistair asks, sitting down next to Marethari.

“In a way. The crystal thrives on the collective emotions of all who came before us. In return, it provides power, longevity, protection. As it grew, it developed a consciousness of its own.” She pauses her explanation for a moment, coughing violently. “The previous Keeper, Atuan’s father, he sought to use it as a weapon of war against the rising Imperium, but its power proved too great to control. It overwhelmed us and led to our destruction.”

“That’s why you hid it beneath the city,” Alistair concludes, all the pieces fitting together now. “To keep history from repeating itself.”

Marethari nods. “And to prevent Atuan from suffering the same fate as his father.”

“What do you mean?” Alistair asks, his breath catching in his chest. “What’s going to happen to Atuan?”

“If he remains bonded to the crystal, he could be lost to it forever. The love of our ward is all we have left,” Marethari croaks out, gesturing to herself and Ashalle. “My burden would have become his when the time was right, but now, it falls to you.”

With shaky hands, she lifts her crystal necklace over her head and holds it out to Alistair.

“Me?”

Marethari nods, placing the necklace into his palm and curling his fingers over it.

“Return the crystal,” she says through another coughing fit. “Save Arlathan. Save our child.”

Keeper Marethari’s hand goes limp, her lungs stuttering to a stop. The guards all kneel and Ashalle presses her palm over Marethari’s forehead and sweeping it down her face, closing the deceased’s eyes.

Wynne finishes packing away her medical tools and snaps the bag shut. 

“So, what’s it going to be?” Wynne asks Alistair. 

“Excuse me?”

“I followed you in.” Wynne gestures to Alistair with her medic bag. “And I’ll follow you out.” She then gestures to the door. “It’s your decision.”

“Oh, my decision? Well, I think we’ve seen how effective my decisions have been. Let’s recap,” he says and pulls the journal out of his bag. “I lead a band of plundering vandals to the greatest archeological find in recorded history, thus enabling the kidnap and, or murder of the royal family… Not to mention personally delivering the most powerful force known to man into the hands of a mercenary nutcase who’s probably going to sell it to the Archon! Have I left anything out?”

Wynne thinks it over. “Well, you did set the camp on fire and drop us down that big hole.”

Alistair throws his hands up, tossing the journal onto the floor, and turns on his heel. “Thank you! Thank you very much.” He sits down on the steps.

“Of course, it’s been my experience when you hit bottom,” Wynne says, picking up the journal, “the only place left to go is up.”

Alistair sighs, head in hands. “Who told you that?”

“A lady by the name of Fiona Theirin.”

Alistair lifts his face from his hands, holds the crystal necklace up, tossing it before catching it in a tight fist, a determine set to his jaw. He needs to get up and go after Loghain, rescue Atuan, but the bridge is gone. The only way he can get across is if he flew… Wait a minute…

He thinks back to the coelacanth like vehicle, how Atuan said there were many that returned to the city before it sank, and Alistair has a plan.


	4. Chapter 4

Alistair rushes from the palace, past the group of his companions who had been heading up there to see what the fuss was all about, and begins to rush down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Leliana shouts as she starts running after him.

“I’m going after Mac Tir.”

“Alistair, that’s crazy.”

“I didn’t say it was the smart thing. But it is the right thing.”

Oghren sighs. “Come on. We better make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

\---

Down in the city, Alistiar finds that most of what he had assumed were just fish themed statues were actually the ships Atuan had mentioned. He chooses one that looks like an overgrown carp and climbs onto it.

“Alistair, what do you think you are doing?” Leliana asks as she and the group catch up to him.

He lifts up the crystal necklace and tells them “Just follow my lead” as he starts it up. The eyes and the inscription pad light up blue as it roars to life, awaiting further instructions. 

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Sten tells him. 

“It’s simple. All you got to do–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shut up. We get it, okay?” Leliana says as she climbs onto the ship behind him and leans forward to touch the pad with her hand.

“No, no, wait!”

Too late. It lets out a screeching sound like the one from earlier had, although instead of speeding off it just reverses into a wall, causing a reverberating echo.

“Gently. Just gently.” 

“Hey, Alistair, you got something sporty?” Oghren asks from below. “You know, like a tuna?”

A crowd of Elvhen gather around, one of them speaks up. “How is this done?”

“All you got to do is use the crystals,” Alistair explains as he climbs down. “Atuan showed me.”

He heads over to one that looks like a hammerhead shark to show them how. “Half-turn right, quarter-turn back. Keep your hand on the pad.”

Soon enough they had a sizeable group, one that could take on Mac Tir.

\---

At the base of the volcano, a rocket is launched, piercing through the blockage above them, giving them their way out.

“I love it when I when,” Loghain grins.

\---

The small fleet sails through air, like the way a fish cuts through water. Over the waters around Arlathan and into the tunnel systems they had been traveling in roughly 48 hours ago.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Alistair shouts over hum of the engines and the wind whipping in their faces. “We’re going to come in low and fast and take them by surprise.”

“Well, I’ve got news for you, Alistair,” Leliana shouted back. “Mac Tir is never surprised, and he’s got a lot of guns.”

“Any suggestions?”

“Yeah,” Oghren answered. “Don’t get shot.”

\---

Loghain and a few of the soldiers finish hooking the container to the hot air balloon, when he notices a strange whirring sound getting louder and louder. 

“There they are!”

Alistair, of course. On the back of a flying, glowing, stone shark. Loghain has to give the kid some credit, he doesn’t know when to give up.

“We’ve got company!” He shouts to his men and they open fire on the swarm of flying fish as Loghain climbs onto the deck of the aircraft. It was strange sort of fight, glowing fish and small fighter planes zipping around in the tight space of the volcano, as the balloon rose at a steady pace. 

The sound of gunfire was loud in the cavern, Oghren nearly becoming a casualty as he was nearly hit with a pray of bullets. He threw one hand up and the other pressed against the pad of his ship, causing an electric arc of blue to shoot out of its mouth destroy one of the trucks below. It didn’t take long for everyone else to catch on to what he had learned by accident.

“Oghren! Heads up!” Alistair shouts over the gunfire and mortar rounds. “We can’t let them reach the top of that shaft! You and me, we’re going to be decoys. Leliana and Wynne, fly up underneath that thing and cut him loose.”

“We’re on it,” Wynne calls out and they set their plan into motion. 

“Lieutenatn!” Loghain shouts, pointing at an oncoming ship.

She takes aim butit moves to fast for her to get an accurate shot off. A short arc of energy lands near her. She whirls about and shoots, the bullet glancing off the metallic hull of Oghren’s ship.

While they keep up their distsraction, down below Leliana climbs on top of the container and Wynne hands her a saw. She attempts to saw through the chains, but to no avail as all that happens is that sparks are sent flying but no progress is actually being made.

“I thought you said this thing could cut through a femur in 28 seconds!”

“Less talk, more saw.”

Above them Loghain and Cauthrien grow more and more agitated as they keep missing their targets. Loghain aims for Alistair’s head, but has his shot out of his hand by one of the energy shots from Oghren’s ship. Loghain goes to pick up his dropped gun, but notices Wynne and Leliana down below.

Cauthrien lets out a snarl of anger as she tosses her pistol away, completely out of ammo for it.

“Looks like somebody’s working overtime,” Loghain smirks and points down at the cage.

Cauthrien wastes no time in moving to the side of the balloon’s deck, pulling out the pin for one of the bomb shells and letting it drop, landing on one of the Elvhen ships left idling by the cage. 

“Come on, Leliana. Time’s up,” Wynne said as she gripped the girl’s shirt and hauled her off the cage before the next bomb could drop on them.

“Any last words?” Alistair asks himself. “Yeah. I really wish I had a better idea than this!”

He launches his ship into one of the balloons, jumping from it at the right moment and holding onto the netting around one of the other balloons.

“We’re losing altitude! Lighten the load.” Loghain orders Cauthrien.

She tosses everything overboard but it still isn’t enough, they keep going down. “That’s it, unless someone wants to jump.”

“Ladies first.” Loghain grabs her around her biceps, lifts her up and tosses her over the railing. She manages to grab onto one of the lower railings and swing herself back up. With her momentum she manages to land a kick on Loghain’s face. 

“You said we were in this together!” She kicks him again. “You promised me a percentage!” She goes for another kick, but Loghain catches her foot, twisting it slightly as he gets up.

“Next time, get it in writing,” he says with a manic grin as flings her over the side, no railing to save her this time. “Nothing personal!”

Cauthrien falls fast and hard to the rocky ground below, cursing his name the entire way down.

Alistair almost doesn’t believe it even though it happened before his very eyes; while he knew Loghain would do anything to profit from the crystal despite being in Atuan’s form, Alistair never once thought the man would betray Cauthrien, not this way. As silently as he can, Alistair undoes one of the ropes of the balloon’s netting and pushes off, swinging in an arc, legs aiming for Loghain. His feet clip the man’s shoulder, knocking him over the side. Alistair’s hold on the rope slips, causing him to fall after Loghain. 

Both men land on the lowest deck, right above the sharp, rotating propeller blades that aid in the balloon ship’s flight, and Alistair manages to keep himself from slipping over the side and into the blades by gripping tight to the railing.

“Well, I have to hand it to ya, you’re a bigger pain in the neck than I ever would’ve thought possible,” Loghain grits out as he staggers to his feet.

Alistair lunges at him, balled up fists swinging, but Loghain catches his fist and lands a solid kick into Alistair’s chest, knocking him backwards into the railing which creaks and breaks away, getting caught in the propeller blades, causing them to grind to a halt.

“I consider myself an even-tempered man, it takes a lot to get under my skin, but congratulations, you just won the solid gold kewpie doll.”

Alistair is too busy hanging onto the metal railing, trying not to slip and meet the same end Cauthrien surely has, to bother listening to Loghain. Reaching out with one arm and swinging his body, he grabs onto the chains that carry Atuan’s crate.

Down below on the volcano’s ashy floor, Cauthrien stirs and hisses as pain lances up all along her legs and lower back. Grunting and breathing heavily, she rolls onto her back, tugging out the flare gun she had kept tucked away in the waist of her pants. 

“Nothing personal,” she says, spite welling up deep within her, and Cauthrien pulls the trigger.

The flare shoots out, on a steady course straight for the largest balloon, piercing it and causing it to burst into flames.

With the balloon ship now descending quicker than it had before, Loghain creaks open the emergency case, pulling out a fire axe, and climbs down the chains, intent on killing Alistair. The younger man slides out of the way as Loghain swings the axe, cracking the observation window of Atuan’s crate.

“Tired Mr. Theirin? That’s a darn shame. ‘Cause I’m just getting warmed up.”

Energy crackled along the glass shards, giving Alistair an idea. He picks up a piece of the broken glass just as Loghain wraps his hand around Alistair’s neck and lifts him up in the air. Fire and debris rains down around them and Alistair slashes Loghain’s arm with the glass shard, Loghain hisses in pain and releases his hold on Alistair, who climbs up the chains.

Alistair looks down at Loghain as he climbs up, watching as the older man’s skin turned as blue as the ocean and hard as crystal. The transformation quickly consumed Loghain’s body, his eyes turning a unnatural shade of red like his veins, a distorted cry ripping its way from his throat as his body solidified. It reminds him of the legend of Meredith from Kirkwall, the Knight-Commander who turned into solid lyrium, although in this case instead of ingesting the substance, Loghain’s transformation from a living creature into solid crystal is from an open wound.

About halfway up the chains is when Alistair hears metallic groaning from above; the propeller blades are finally breaking the rail jamming them up. This isn’t good.

The blades broke through, trapping Alistair on the chains, but at least Loghain was no longer a problem. Alistair slumps a little, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank the Maker.”

Not even a second later and he’s rearing back when a blue crystalline hand grasps the metal ring the supports the chains, an unnatural screech ringing in his ears. The blue figure lunges at him as Alistair quickly moves away from it. Their movement on the metal ring jars it and causes it to swing, making the crystal creature that was once Loghain launch into the propeller blades and it breaks into thousands of tiny blue shards.

The shards do what the bone saw could not and cut Atuan’s crate loose. The metal box plummets to the ground and Alistair loses his grip and falls after it, though luckily with how far the balloon ship had sank already they didn’t fall too far.

The balloon ship crashes in a blazing inferno as his companions land their Elvhen ships. Although this also when the ground beneath them decides to start cracking and shaking.

“Alistair, time to go!” Leliana shouts.

“Hook the chain to your ship and I’ll attach the other end to the crate!” Alistair shouts back.

\---

It wasn’t easy, definitely wasn’t a smooth ride, but they’d managed to evade the erupting magma and were now heading back to Arlathan as fast as the ships could manage. When he looks back on this later, Alistair will be surprised (and incredibly relieved) that no one got swallowed up by the tide of magma that follows them out of the tunnels, but right now he’s too focused on making sure that the chain around the crate holding Atuan doesn’t break again.

They land the crate onto a large, intricately designed platform, most of Arlathan’s population gathered on the stairs that led down to it, watching with baited breath as Alistair and a couple of guards pry open the metal box with spears. When the bolts give way, bright light filters out between the cracks until Atuan’s arms spread out as if pushing the metal walls away.

No longer confined by the crate, Atuan’s form hovers slightly above the ground as a soft blue glow begins to light up the lines carved into the stone, until the entire city is glowing. There’s rumbling beneath them until the totems burst upward from the stone, ascending with Atuan high into the sky. The totems spin faster and faster until they all blur together and beams of light shoot out and connect to the various golems around the city that Alistair had thought were only statues.

Most of them emerge from beneath the waves surrounding Arlathan, the water sloshing around their stony legs as they move to take their places at the edge of the large plateau. They all brought their hands together in a thunderous clap before spreading their arms wide, a protective barrier radiating from their palms, forming a shield around the remains of the city.

The magma waves crashed over the shield, like water beating against a rocky shore, until the entire barrier was covered. It hardened quickly and everything fell silent.

A crack in the surface, a brilliant blue light seeping through, until intricate pattern began to crack through the hardened magma causing more of the light to shine through.

The light faded from the rocky surface as it crumbled and fell away from where it had clung to the outside of the shield, some of the larger parts crashing and breaking away the edges of the plateau, allowing Arlathan’s water to pour out once more, allowing to drain away some of it from the ruined city.

Later on, Alistair would wonder why the Heart chose that moment to raise more of the city from its watery grave (there had to be more to it other than Keeper Marethari and Ashalle keeping it hidden) instead of doing so sooner, but that was later on, once the events of the past 48 hours or so finally sank in completely.

Once the dust settled and there was a break in the fog, the Heart shone a light down and from it, Atuan descended, no longer fused with the large crystal.

Relief hit him at the sight and Alistair jogged forward and held his arms open for the elf.

As soon as the Heart safely placed Atuan in Alistair’s hold the light disappeared and the elf’s full weight sagged against Alistair briefly.

Amber eyes fluttered open, unfocused and bleary as if he was waking from a deep sleep. “Alistair?” Atuan asked quietly, sounding confused and unsure of what was happening.

“Right here,” Alistair replied just as quiet. Atuan faintly smiled, and looked as if he was about to say something, until he realized he was holding something small in his hand. They both watched as Atuan carefully uncurled his fingers and the elf gasped; an intricately carved wooden bangle, too small for an adult to wear, but the perfect size for a child.

 _“Papae…”_ Atuan murmured, tears welling up in his eyes, as he recognized the bangle he thought he had lost all those years ago during the panic on the streets.

He looked up and met Alistair’s gaze and then their arms were wrapped around one another, holding each other tightly, happiness and relief practically radiating from them.

When Alistair looked up as the fog completely cleared up he felt his breath catch in his throat. He nudged Atuan who turned to look at what had caught Alistair’s attention. Their arms dropped away from one another as they walked to the edge of the platform and looked out across the newly emerged ruins.

Alistair’s companions moved up to the edge with them, all looking at the ruins with renewed awe.

A careful brush of fingers against the side of his hand and Alistair held his hand open for Atuan to tangle their fingers together.

A brief, but gentle squeeze. A question.

Alistair returns it. An answer.

\---

A group of Arlathan’s citizens were helping load up a ship, carved to look like a narwhal, with gold and food as Atuan and Ashalle were saying goodbye to Alistair’s companions.

“Arlathan will honor your names forever,” Atuan told them as he placed a crystal necklace over Oghren’s head. “I only wish there was more we could do for you.”

“Thanks, but I think we’re good,” Oghren said and gestured to the ship being filled with gifts.

“They’ll take you as far as the surface,” Alistair said.

“We are really going to miss you, Alistair,” Leliana said with a bittersweet smile.

“I think I’ll open up a flower shop. Felsi will like that,” Oghren said, clapping Alistair’s arm, then ended up thinking aloud to himself as he walked away. “I’ll think about you guys every day, Monday through Friday, 9 to 5, Saturday until 2. Sunday… I’m going to take Sunday off, probably, and… Maybe I’ll go in for a couple of hours, you know. But August… I’m going to take August.”

Leliana came to him next and kissed his cheek. “Take care of yourself, and be good to Atuan. See you, Alistair.”

As Leliana walked over to Oghren, Shale and Sten came up to Alistair. “Oh, uh hey…”

“I suppose I will miss it. Try not to get squashed down here,” Shale said before turning away. Sten said nothing before turning away as well.

“Uh, goodbye?”

“You sure you want to stay?” Wynne asked, the last to bid farewell. “There’s a hero’s welcome waiting for the man who discovered Arlathan.”

Alistair shook his head. “I don’t think the world needs another hero. Besides, I hear there’s an opening down here for an expert in gibberish,” Alistair said, a grin on his face as Attuan moved to stand next to him.

Wynne grinned as well. “You take care of yourself, Alistair Theirin.”

“You too, Wynne.”

“Can we go home now?” Sten asked.

Chuckling, Wynne gestured over to the ship. “Let’s get one last shot in front of the fish.”

They all gathered in front of the gifts that had yet to be loaded and stood smiling for the camera as Ashalle held up the flash like Sten had showed her earlier.

“Say _‘vhenallin!’”_

_“Vhenallin!”_

\---

Duncan shuffled through the photographs, the first being a completely off center shot of the remaining group in front of a pile of treasure, the only ones really identifiable being Wynne, Sten, and Oghren.

“Now let’s go over it again just so we got it straight,” Duncan said as he stood in front of the well-dressed group around the lit fireplace. “You didn’t find anything?”

“Nope. Just a lot of rocks. And fish, little fish,” Oghren answered first. “Sponges.”

Duncan shifted through the photographs, looking at one shot of flying ships carved to look like fish being piloted by a group of Elvhen.

“What happened to Cauthrien?”

“Missing,” Sten answered this time.

“And Mac Tir?”

“Nervous breakdown. You could say he went all to pieces,” Wynne said, her mouth hitching into a smile at her joke.

“What about Alistair?”

“Went down with the sub,” Leliana replied with believable sadness tinging her voice.

Duncan nodded, pleased with their answers as he continued to flip through the photographs. He stopped on one of the last in the stack; it’s of Alistair and a white haired elvhen man, both looking at each other with great fondness. Duncan sighed, though he was faintly smiling. “I’m going to miss that boy. At least he’s in a better place now.”

A small package slipped out from between the pictures, though Duncan caught it before it could hit the floor. Carefully untying the twine, a soft blue glow emitted from underneath the wrapping. Unfolding it revealed a picture of Fiona with a small Alistair, though now there was something written at the bottom of the old photograph, and a glowing blue crystal necklace, much like the ones the group in front of him wore.

Duncan read the note as he lifted the necklace up.

_Dear Mr. Duncan,_

_I hope this piece of proof is enough for you. It sure convinced me._

_Thanks from the both of us. – Alistair Theirin_

Duncan chuckled and smiled fondly as he folded and placed the picture into the breast pocket of his suit and slipped the crystal necklace over his head.

\---

Atuan and Alistair stood in front of two stone slabs, chiseling tools in their hands. Once satisfied, they both stood back and looked at their carvings. Ashalle stepped forward and she and Atuan both shared a sad smile as they lifted up their necklaces and blew gently on the crystals and touching them briefly to the stone carvings of Keeper Mahariel and Keeper Marethari.

The totems lit up with same glue light the other totems had, and began to ascend to join the other Keepers of the past. Grinning, Atuan grasped Alistair’s hand in his and they both ran through the streets towards the largest ruin they could find, Ashalle looking on in fond exasperation.

They climbed up the vines, at least being able to ascend with the totems a little ways up. At the top, they both stood close together, holding hands, and watching as the totems joined with the rest in their orbit around the Heart which was no longer hidden and instead floated above the city, finally able to watch over the Elvhen of Arlathan.

“So what’s in store for us next, Keeper Atuan?” Alistair asked, grinning in amusement.

Atuan returned his grin.

“I don’t know, but I’m glad you’re here with me.”


End file.
